Resurrecting Annie
by HolidayBoredom
Summary: 'Oh! Hi, Artemis! Listen, I've been having dreams about your father murdering random people and burying them the decorative verge... Ring any bells' Rated T but rated M in later chapters. Updated... sporadically at best.
1. Chapter 1 Unburied Past

Author's Notes - Right. I haven't done this in quite a while lol. Be gentle people :) And hopefully enjoy :)

Disclaimer - Eoin Colfer owns all characters apart from Annie :)

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****Chapter 1 – Unburied Past**

_**'I understand. I will tell no-one. Not my Mother. Not Butler. Not Juliet and never my Father.' **_

_**'And you must never forget it…'**_

Holly Short knew she was dreaming; the fact that Commander Julius Root was stood before her dressed in full ceremonial uniform complete with gold lapels and honorary medals told her so. Her murdered Superior bowed to her and extended a hand which she took, smiling broadly. She laughed as he led her to the ball room floor, his rough, warm hand clutching tightly to hers as he spun her through the crowds. They waltzed joyfully, flying with ease past the other couples including Foaly with Caballine, Trouble with Corporal Frond and Mulch with a large roast chicken. Everything was wonderful.

'Are you happy Holly?' asked the Commander, his hand resting gently at her waist, 'Are you really happy?'

'Yes, Sir!' she called back 'Of course Sir!'

Julius Root beamed then glanced over her shoulder, 'Look Captain! There's Artemis and Annie!'

Holly turned to see a tall couple sweeping gracefully towards them, both dressed in dazzling white. It was Artemis, Artemis Fowl, as tall and handsome as he had appeared when they had time travelled; his face older, matured. In his arms rested a girl, perhaps seventeen years old. Long lushious mahogany locks cascaded past her blushing cheeks while dark eyes sparkled in the light.

Holy stared, enthralled as they spiralled closer eventually coming to a rest, the girl's smile widening.

'Hello Holly.' She said warmly, 'I hear you've been looking after my Arty.'

Artemis smiled tenderly, pulling the girl closer. Holly blinked.

'It-It's been nothing.'

The girl laughed softly. 'Well, I am grateful all the same.'

'We've got something to show you,' said Artemis, releasing the girl to hold out a hand, 'something extremely special.'

Holly looked at his palm and hesitated, her own hand still resting on her Commander's shoulder.

'Go.' whispered Root in her ear, 'He needs to show you something.'

Holly looked at him wearily, 'You will stay here Commander? You'll wait until I come back?'

He nodded once, pushing her towards Artemis, 'I'll be right here Captain.'

The tall boy reached for her hand and she let his long pale fingers entwine around hers. The girl was smiling again.

'Come on, Holly!' she called, walking backwards into the crowds 'We'll have to run!'

Artemis pulled against her grasp.

'Run?' asked Holly nervously

'Yes! We have to _run_!'

She felt the wind blow in her hair and saw the Commander disappear behind whirling dancers, saluting stiffly. The two humans were laughing; their own heat and energy pulling her forwards, making her feet _want_ to follow. Artemis' grip yanked her forwards and now she was laughing too, the swirling colours of dresses, uniforms, faces, all blurring, merging together. The girl's beaming face was ahead.

'Come on Holly!'

The elf grinned back, 'I am!'

And suddenly she was sprinting and Artemis' hand had gone and so had the ballroom and so had the girl.

A child's high pitched giggles ricocheted from the trees she suddenly found surrounding her and dead leaves and discarded bark pounded beneath her now bare feet. She didn't falter but spread her arms, the ferns whipping her finger tips as she raced through the undergrowth. She let her mouth breath the air, tasting the tang of wet earth and raw wind rush over her tongue. This was clear, this was real. Holly lent into her stride, flying through the trees when she just caught a glimpse of another figure raging through the forest ahead.

It was a male child, perhaps five or six years of age, an expression of joyous freedom etched across his pale face. His hair was black, his eyes a familiar ocean-like blue, his torso wrapped in a thick woollen jumper, his skinny legs obscured by brown corduroys and his feet clad in nothing but grass dew and dirt. The boy ran on, deeper and deeper into the trees.

Holly followed swiftly and soon they were side by side. She didn't talk while jumping tree roots and dodging brambles, just listened to his quick but steady breathing and his soft grunts as he pounded on. Soon, the trees grew darker.

He changed pace; slowing to barely a jog, making his bare feet pad lightly over the sponge-like floor. She followed as he edged into a dense fern bank, dropping to his hands and knees to crawl his way inwards before lying flat against the ground and squinting through the leaves.

It was then that the voices began to travel across the clearing.

Holly watched the boy tense. He'd been waiting for this, waiting for this opportunity for weeks. He'd made sure Butler was absent, practicing hard at kendo in the Dojo, he'd set up the Nanny's kitchen so the kettle would pour water over the handle, made sure he was _asleep_ when she checked, still swearing and clutching at her burnt hand, that he would be okay to leave alone for a minute, so he could escape and see for himself where his Father went when he walked into the forest…

Deep voices accompanied by thudding footsteps arrived into the clearing overlooked by the ferns, their boots stamping out a steady drum beat on the forest floor.

'Sir?'

The footsteps stopped.

In the undergrowth, the little boy wriggled forwards another inch.

'Yes.' Spoke a voice, 'Here is fine.'

There was a muffled thud as something was dropped to the ground. Both Holly and the boy silently tilted forward.

The dull sounds of a shovel being driven into wet earth found their way to the child's hiding place and guttural grunts could be heard as one man dug. The other simply observed and kept well away from the dirt.

Twenty minutes later the boy was still lain stock still even as the wet seeped through his clothes. A shallow trench had been dug, roughly six feet long, two feet wide and three foot deep by the man in the clearing. There was silence as the shovel ceased and both men stared at the hole.

The second, thinner man spoke up sharply. 'Well?!' he hissed impatiently, 'Finish it! I wish to return to my office!'

'Yes, Sir.' responded the bigger male, grasping the something dropped to the floor, 'Of course Sir.'

The boy in the ferns shuffled forward as far as he dared, trying to tell what the man was carrying but with a quick shove and a grunt it was gone, falling with another dull thud to the bottom of the trench. The noises of the shovel began again and after another ten minutes of shunting the thing was covered. The giant smoothed the top of the mound with the back of a shovel, reminding Artemis of how the Fowl chef finished icing on a cake.

'Good,' said the other man, turning from the scene, 'that business is finished. Now come Major, I have other work waiting at the Manor.'

'Mr Fowl, Sir.' Spoke the manservant 'I would like to stay and neaten the job, if only for a short time…'

The boy's Father was silent for a quick second, surveying his old bodyguard with a suspicious eye but the moment passed and he gave one sharp nod before striding back in the direction of the house.

'No more than 20 minutes.' He said coldly, 'My time is not to be wasted.' and disappeared into the woods.

The manservant just stood for a moment, staring after his master and hidden in the ferns Holly felt the small boy's irritation. What was the Major doing just standing there when his Father had ordered his quick return?! How impudent! However, it was then that the man moved, crouching low and laying a massive palm flat on the mound. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, muttering under his breath, fingers still splayed in the dirt.

The child in the bush was utterly bemused.

After a while the manservant stood and sniffed loudly, wiping a wide sleeve across his face. He gave the mound a quick nod, before walking away back through the woods and following his Master.

The boy waited until the muted footfalls had faded fully into the distance before standing cautiously up through the ferns, leaves sticking to his fringe and clothes. Holly walked forward as he did, her eyes drawn as his were to the brown mound. He hesitated, then dropped to his knees, beginning to undo the work done mere minutes earlier, his bare hands digging swiftly.

Holly heard his eager thoughts;

_What is Father hiding? Jewels? Gold? Blue Prints? Bearer Bonds?_

A hundred treasure-worthy ideas sprung in the boy's mind as she knelt beside him, her hands resting in the thrice disturbed dirt.

The child made short work of it, his tiny hands worming through the earth clearing a small peep hole. With his tongue clenched between white milk teeth he spread the hole further until a wide enough gap was formed revealing the end of a black zip-up tarpaulin bag. He grasped the tag with a grubby fist.

_Is it Diamonds? Cash? Paintings? Antiques?_

The options span faster in Holly's open mind as he yanked the zip sharply across then…screamed.

It was a face. A white face with its eyes rolled back, its mouth open in a silent shriek, _Dead_.

His Father had buried a corpse.

The six year old boy cried louder, only to have the noise cut brutally off as a giant hand clasped across his mouth.

Holly could only watch, horror struck as he was dragged backwards away from the body. The child kicked and writhed in his captor's arms only to be squeezed tighter, harder. Eventually the boy's struggles weakened, and his eyes rolled back. It was then, nearly at the point of suffocation that he was released, dropped heavily to the floor. The child heaved, his battered frame shaking violently, wracked with painful sobs as he gulped for air. His towering attacker advanced again, grabbing the child by his collar and hefting him into the air. He gasped as the thunderous face of the Major shot into focus.

'Artemis!' growled the old manservant, shaking the boy roughly, 'Artemis, listen to me!'

The child just whimpered, head lolling, tears streaming down his muddied cheeks.

'You must listen!' barked the man again

The boy's eyes were unfocused.

'_Father_!' he choked, lips trembling '_He's_…_He's_…'

The Major's eyes suddenly widened with fear and he shook the boy again, making him cry out with pain.

'No!' he ordered, his voice thunderous, 'You must never speak of this, not to _anyone_! Not your mother! Not to Butler! Not to Juliet! And _never_ your Father!'

The boy was sobbing hysterically now, his red eyes swollen, tiny nose streaming. The Major stared as the child gibbered, obviously not listening to a word he was saying. He hesitated, twice, before taking one giant step forward, kneeling deep in the mud and forcing the boy's face towards the open grave. The child squealed hysterically, crying out and Holly felt her stomach lurch.

'Do you see this?!' roared the Major, keeping a stone hand on the back of his Master's son's head. 'Do you see it?!'

'_Please_!' screamed the child, '_Please_!'

'_Do you see it?!'_

'Yes! _Yes_!'

The Major forced the boy's face closer, and his thin arms scrabbled at the mud, nails clawing for an escape.

'If you ever speak of this,' Warned the Major clearly 'you will end up like this; dead, in a hole, where no-one will ever find you. Do you understand me?'

He cried out again, the stench and the horror burning his throat and nose. The Major's eyes flickered with the same fear as before.

'Artemis!' he shouted, 'I will not release you until I know you understand; until you answer me calmly!'

'_Please_!' sobbed the boy 'Please! I understand!'

The Major's expression was twisted with repulsion.

'No!' he said firmly, though Holly caught the slight shake, 'You will be calm and answer me reasonably so I know you understand. So I know you'll be able to keep your word.'

The boy struggled once more, his weak desperate cries disturbing Holly to the core.

Slowly the child's breath began to even out, his face still centimetres from a corpse and he began to speak, coldly, levelly in an emotionless voice no six year old should ever possess.

'I understand. I will tell no-one. Not my Mother. Not Butler. Not Juliet and never my Father.'

He lifted his hand.

The boy reeled backwards, scrabbling away, hands and nails scratching at his face where the dead man had stared.

'And you must never forget it…' murmured the Major softly, watching as the boy ran desperately back to the trees.

'Holly?!'

The elf span sideways as a hand clamped down on her shoulder. It was the girl from the ballroom, her dark eyes still sparkling, long dress still bright.

'Holly, wake up!' she said, shaking her shoulder roughly.

'No!' shouted the elf, 'I have to go after him!'

'Holly, wake up!'

'No! I can't!'

'Major, wake up!'

Her eyes shot open while she was still screaming.

'No! _Annie_!'

Commander Trouble Kelp's face loomed above her, concern etched in every line of his face.

'Major Short, are you with us?' he asked sharply, his hand on her shoulder.

She blinked thickly.

'Sir…?'

Her Superior breathed a deep sigh of relief.

'Glad to see you awake, Major.' He said wryly, standing properly upright.

Holly lurched into a sitting position to find herself back in the transfer training shuttle with around eight wide eyed recruits staring at her, their lime green academy jumpsuits glowing slightly in the dim dorm lights. She coughed, embarrassed.

'Commander Kelp.' She said shakily 'I apologise…I just…I just nodded off…'

Trouble was already half way out the dorm.

'Well, Major, we've arrived so if you'd like to start the procedure…?'

She took a deep breath, forcing her face into an expression she hoped showed a person in control.

'You heard him!' she shouted, suddenly all business 'Move out! I want you all off this shuttle in 20 seconds or behinds start being buzzed!'

There was the predictable scramble as the green recruits all clambered to reach the exit doors. Holly just frowned, watching them run.

'What was that about?' she muttered quietly, once alone, rubbing the back of her neck

She closed her eyes and a dead white face flashed behind her lids.

'Major?!' bellowed a voice from outside.

Her eyes shot open.

'Coming Sir!'

And she jumped from the shuttle door, the cries of the desperate little Artemis Fowl still ringing in her ears.


	2. Chapter 2 Family

DISCLAIMER - I do not own the Artemis Fowl series. Never have, never will. Annie, Shinner and Francis are allll mine though :)

Hey, sorry it's taken so long for me to put this up but it is MEGA long. I doubt any of my other planned scenes will ever be so long, but who knows?

_**THANKS FOR ALL THE REVIEWS THEY WERE REALLY APPRECIATED!!!! **_

**_keep them coming :)_**

Now please enjoy :D

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**Chapter 2 - Family**

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_'**We have a job for you; a job that Mr Shinner wishes you to perform.'**_

**_'What is it you require of me Sir?'_**

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Artemis Fowl padded along the upper floor corridor, coming to a stop before the largest oak door. He turned the brass knob as quietly as he could and crept inside the room; dodging the carpet vines, as usual. At the far side of his parent's 14th century bedroom stood his target destination. He approached with his breath held, careful not to step on any of the many toys and pastel coloured blankets strewn across the floor and soon he was beside the cot and leaning over its ruffled sides.

His smile grew. Inside the crib, flat on her back, lay a baby girl. Her eyes were closed; her chubby arms flipped back and a thumb stuck firmly in her mouth.

'Hello Evey...' whispered her brother, reaching a hand inside to stroke the whisps of black hair away from her forehead.

Three month old Evelyn Fowl kicked a chubby leg against her uninvited guest, her tiny nose wrinkling as she dreamed on in her sleep.

Artemis stared.

This was becoming very much a part of his daily routine. He'd confer with Butler for an hour or three, sat behind the Louis XII desk in the 2nd study before dressing for bed and checking in on the newest edition to the Fowl family. Every night the time he spent by her side was growing. He had missed this part in Myles and Beckett's development and had to admit that he was entirely fascinated by it. Babies had never been a part of his life before now and he was disused to the noise, the smell and all the accessories that came with caring for a miniature human being. Mobiles, teddy bears and crotched woollen blankets were always absent entities whilst he was growing up and he'd never known they could become normality.

A strip of light lit up against the back wall as the door to the bedroom was pushed open. Artemis continued to gaze down at his sister.

'Artemis?' whispered his Mother, framed in the door way 'Is that you?'

Her son turned, his mismatched eyes glinting through the dark. 'Yes, it's me.'

Angeline Fowl stepped further into the room; closing the door softly behind her and plunging them all back into darkness.

'Had she woken?' asked the Fowl mother softly. 'Did she disturb you?'

'No.' replied the teenager 'I just thought I'd... I'd look in on her before retiring.'

His mother looked down at her youngest.

'She looks a lot like you.' she murmured, reaching down into the cot, 'The same eyes...'

'Father's eyes.' corrected Artemis. 'She looks a lot like Father.'

Angeline smiled.

'I suppose... But she reminds me more of _you_ all the same...'

They were quiet for a moment, both leaning over the crib, both very still. Angeline sighed.

'You know you'll have to look after her Arty.' she said softly, leaning over to adjust her daughter's blankets, 'Myles and Beckett also.'

'Of course Mother, Mum, but you've heard Father. It's the quiet life for us now; for all of us. I doubt she will need much lookingafter... It has been quite a while since any... _unsavoury _venture has taken place on our part...'

'I know.' Angeline Fowl straightened then looked up at her son. 'And for that I am so proud of you.'

Artemis stayed quiet, averting his eyes to the baby beneath him who flicked an arm before falling deeper into sleep.

'Oh Arty...' she whispered, 'I... I know your life here has never been the... the most comfortable of affairs. I always feel as though we let you down, in a very large way and...And that I must apologise.'

Her son's face had frozen, eyes fixed on his sister's face.

'There's nothing to apologise for.'

Angeline looked at him imploringly 'Artemis, please. The family business, your Father's past ventures, I know it was hard for you and I curse the way I never properly stood against it. I could have done so much better for you-'

'Mother, please-'

'No Artemis, it must be said. You must have felt so alone-'

'It is fine now.' he said firmly, taking a sharp step back from the crib and his mother.

'Artemis, _please_.'

The shaft of light reappeared on the wall of the room.

'Arty? Angeline?' said a voice, their figure silhouetted in the doorway, 'What's all this noise? You'll wake Evelyn.'

Artemis walked swiftly back across the bedroom, brushing by his Father.

'Good night, Father, Mother.' he said, before walking back down the corridor.

Artemis Senior turned to his wife, 'Is he alright? He looked...upset.'

Angeline wrapped her thin arms around herself.

'It was my fault.' she murmured, 'I tried to talk to him... _apologise_... about the past.'

The eldest Fowl sighed, sitting stiffly on his bed and beginning to unclip his prosthetic leg.

'That is never the wisest of subjects to try with him. He's sensitive. He doesn't like to dwell, especially lately.'

'I know, but I feel like we let him down. All those years Timmy, all he saw. I see the way he watches you when you play with the twins. He regrets, Artemis, he must feel like...like...'

Her husband groaned as he pulled his stump under the covers, shifting his torso in line.

'He's a strong boy Angeline.' he said, 'He just wants to move on and you must let him.'

'Yes, but-'

'No. No buts. We are a family now Angeline, with half of us under four years of age. We must look to the future. That is the only thing we have any hope of effecting. There's no point going over or apologising for things we can't change...things that were dead and buried years ago.'

Angeline Fowl released the knot of her dressing gown cord and slid beneath her silken sheets.

'Yes.' she said, without much expression, her face impossible to read, 'Yes, of course you are right...'

Reaching out an arm she touched the base of her bedside lamp, extinguishing the dim light.

'No more apologies. Just...just the future...'

Outside the door Artemis Fowl lifted his head from the oak panelling. He stood straighter in the darkness, eyes already adjusted to the gloom and turned to walk back to his room.

* * *

'Should- should we move now?'

'Entirely your decision, Corporal.'

The young sprite beside her swallowed, his Adam's apple rubbing against the strap of his camouflage helmet. Holly kept her eyes ahead, trying to stay professional and not yawn. She was bored, and since they'd been hiding in the same holo-bush for at least 20 minutes she had every right to be. Training days were a new part of the Recon academy course, meaning that all new recruits were to spend a week with real Recon officers, simulating combat situations and being assessed on their performance. Holly usually wouldn't be involved with such things but Trouble had needed a favour, so she'd agreed.

'Come on, Kenny!' hissed a voice from behind 'I'm sick of this bush!'

'You shall address me as Corporal Brook!' snapped the sprite, his voice an octave higher than usual 'And you will follow whatever instructions I decide to issue, is that clear?'

The young recruit glanced sideways at Holly to see whether his rebuke was approved of but her eyes were glazed over.

_What could have caused me nightmares? _She thought vaguely, _was it that movie I watched last night? Or am I just around Artemis too much...?_

There was a rustle from the bushes behind.

'What was that?' yelped a voice from the back.

The sprite beside her whimpered before getting a grip.

'Possible hostile force approaching the rear,' he whispered, sweating profusely 'so when I issue the order, we will move to the bank opposite and seek refuge.'

The 5 academy recruits all swallowed hard as Holly struggled not to roll her eyes; 7 trigger happy 40 year olds with low-level stun guns and training helmets hardly qualified to her as 'hostile forces'.

'Okay, go!' yelled the sprite and he launched his troops forward.

The bush behind them erupted with enemy trainees, all screeching like war-hungry demons. Panic was immediate. Holly's squadron all screamed as one, not an ounce of professionalism between them and started blasting randomly over their shoulders as they ran.

'Stop and resume a position!' screamed Holly over the chaos, 'Corporal! Control the situation!'

The sprite's head bobbed; his face stricken. Commander Kelp appeared over the crest of a mound, his visor pulled up to show his mixture of bewilderment and fury at his academy troops rampaging performance. Holly flipped up the front of her own visor, ready to call to him. It was at that point that a panicked elf running with his helmet on backwards smashed into her, managing to thrust the butt of his training gun up into her unprotected face.

She was battered backwards and Trouble Kelp yelled out, watching her roll roughly to the ground.

The first face she saw as her body settled in the dust was a human girl's.

'Come on, Holly.' said Annie, smiling 'I've got something to show you.'

She reached out a hand, grasping the one that lay at Holly's side and pulled her back to her feet.

The training ground vanished.

The electronic forestry, the screaming recruits and the agitated Trouble Kelp disappeared, to be replaced by a large, stately room. Holly was in the centre of it, stood beside an imposing four-poster bed and towering mahogany wardrobe. The wall ahead was taken up by darkened windows. Beneath the antique panes stretched a long desk, equipped with computers and various electronic instruments and monitors. Shelves and pictures bordered the left wall; huge Pre-Raphaelite canvases accompanied by the work of more modest contemporary impressionists. Row upon row of manuals, novels, atlases, all ordered and pristinely kept, lined up beneath the paintings; no dust, no dirt. The carpet was the original pattern, the walls covered with restored 18th century wall-paper. Everything was neat, smart and overtly practical and accessible. There was no sign of any unnecessary clutter, no mess, no fault, everything had a place and nothing was out of place.

Sat in the corner was a young boy.

And with his black hair, wide brow and stiff collared shirt from Hawes & Curtis, Holly could hardly fail to recognise him.

There was a sharp rap on the door behind her.

The 7 year old rose swiftly to answer it.

'Father?' he spoke, his voice clipped and formal.

Artemis Senior was framed in the doorway, his face impassive as he stared down at his only son.

'Artemis.' he said, nodding stiffly 'I hope you are well?'

'Yes, Father, I am.'

'Good. I apologise for disturbing you so late, however, I have someone here I would like you to meet.'

He stood back a step, clearing the boy's view of the man stood just behind him.

The man was squat and greasy, wearing a dusty suit at least 10 years out of style. If Artemis had glanced at him on the street he would have assumed he was homeless. But the 7 year old took a closer look. There was something in his eyes that screamed pain and murder, something in that smile that gave a subtle warning. Something in his stench that reminded Artemis of a hole he had once dug with his bare fingers, a hole his face had been forced into…

The man held out a leathery hand.

'Harold Shinner.' he said clearly, gripping Artemis' thin fingers, 'I do a lot of _work_ with your Dad here...'

'Artemis Fowl the Second.' said Artemis, shaking the hand slowly, 'Pleased to meet your acquaintance.'

The man's smile grew and Artemis had to quell a shiver.

'We have a job for you.' snapped Artemis senior. 'a job that Mr Shinner wishes you to perform.'

The child addressed the shorter male, 'What is it you require of me Sir?'

The man's smile disappeared to be replaced with an angry grimace, 'Hey!' he barked down the corridor, 'Hey, girl! Get here now!'

There was the sound of hesitant footsteps just out of Artemis' sight and Mr Shinner turned sharply towards them. Someone yelped.

A small, dirty figure was dragged forcibly forward. It was a girl, around Artemis' own age, squealing piercingly as she was shaken roughly by one straggly pigtail. She was dressed, as far as Artemis could tell, in an old school pinafore; the grey panelling stained and faded in places. Her hair was matted in knots, probably the result of previous handlings, and tied at the ends with drooping ribbons. Her small face was pinched with pain.

'This is me' daughter.' grunted Shinner, disgust clear on his face 'I'd have left the sorry little bitch in the house but she probably would have burnt the place. Can't trust her! She's a sneaky little witch, just like her Mum.'

'You are to be charged with her care.' said Artemis Senior, staring firmly at his son, 'you are to watch and keep her with you until our business is completed. Do I make myself clear?'

The child was slightly stunned.

'Y-Yes, Father.'

The girl struggled in her Father's grip then gasped as he yanked harder on her braids.

'You hear that?!' hissed Mr Shinner into the girl's face 'He's gonna be watching you tonight so no more trying to get away!' and then to Artemis, 'Watch yer' stuff with her, boy, she'll whip it from right under yer' nose.'

'We will be back some time later tonight.' interrupted his Father, his eyes avoiding the girl at his knees 'Harold, if you please?'

The man gave his daughter one last contemptuous glance before shoving her forward and stalking his taller colleague back down the corridor.

Artemis eyed the girl, his mouth twitching, not sure whether to sneer or frown. She struggled slowly back to her feet, glaring determined at the floor and wiping an already dirty dress sleeve across her nose. The boy grimaced.

'Come inside.' he snapped, opening the door just wide enough for her to pass through, 'but don't touch anything.'

She obeyed silently, coming to a stop just beside Holly and watching as the boy closed the door carefully behind him and secured the bolt across it. He glanced at her once, scanning her thin, ragged frame before brushing past her to his desk and turning his back firmly to her.

'You may sit if you wish.' he said, not bothering to look at her again 'But not on anything that looks valuable as it would cost me to clean it.'

The girl's scowl deepened, 'That's alright.' she said 'I won't sit down.'

He didn't reply.

She glared at him for a minute more before choosing to scan the room.

'Is that _Impression soleil levant_?' she asked after a few minutes of silence 'The Monet painting?'

The boy raised a thin eyebrow, turning towards her 'You recognise it?'

'Yeah...' said the girl, walking forward until she was only inches from the original 'But I thought it was in the... the _Musee Marmottan_?'

Artemis smirked, 'That's also what the _Musee Marmottan _thinks_...' _

Their eyes met for a brief second, the abused girl and the boy, but soon Artemis' head turned firmly back to his desk. She turned away too, after letting her eyes linger briefly on the back of his dark head and reached out a hand to the painting. She traced the delicate brush strokes, her fingers moving in the air above the canvas.

'So...' she said, after another quiet minute 'You're Artemis Fowl Junior?'

'Artemis Fowl the Second. Yes.'

She waited expectantly for a question he should have asked but soon realised that he wasn't going to ask it.

'I'm Annie.' she said after a moment.

Another silence.

'Your Dad works with my Dad don't he? Y'know... doing all the... _stuff_...'

Artemis stiffened.

_'Stuff_?' he scoffed, to cover his sudden, cold discomfort 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

She frowned at his arched back and again the thin sounds of a pen scratching on paper filled the otherwise silent room. Annie folded her arms.

'It's not polite you know, ignoring your guests.'

Artemis sighed, 'Please be quiet.'

'No. _You're_ supposed to be keeping me entertained.'

'I'm meant to be _keeping_ _you,_ not keeping you _entertained_.'

'Yeah, well, when I get bored _Artemis_ _Junior_ I tend to hurt stuff, so you'd better pay more attention to me.'

Artemis bristled and swivelled his chair to face her.

'I beg your pardon?'

'You heard me.'

She reached into her pocket pulling out an old scuffed zippo lighter and flicked the lid back. A small flame began to burn at the tip. Artemis stared at it.

'_Now_ I've got your attention.' She said quietly.

The boy straightened to his full height, 'Put that out. Put that out _now_.'

The girl played with the lighter, dancing her fingers lazily in the flame. Artemis glared as she walked slowly towards his precious painting collection.

'I wonder how much it would cost to fix if I set this on fire…?' she murmured.

'You wouldn't…' whispered the boy, his eyes narrowed to slits.

'Is that a dare, _Artemis Junior_?'

Her grin grew as she brought the fire closer to the canvas, her eyes fixed on his face. Artemis took an angry step closer.

'No, no, no.' she said tauntingly, the light flickering dangerously close to the antique frame 'Don't come any closer.'

The boy was furious, 'Stop that this instant!'

'No.' replied the girl.

'Put it out now or I'll tell your Father.'

Her hand froze halfway towards the swirling oils. They both stared at each other. Artemis smiled smugly, thinking he'd finally played the top trump.

It was his smile that did it.

Annie's face contorted, 'Tell him then!' she cried and thrust the lighter straight into the canvas.

With a strangled yell the boy lurched towards her.

The girl bolted, flicking the lighter closed and sprinted for the unguarded door. While Artemis was reaching for the far wall she set to work on the bolts. Within seconds she had them open and had flung back the oak door. Artemis was so fixated on his assaulted prize he didn't even see the girl slipping swiftly from his bedroom. His fingers traced the frame, eyes darting, scrutinising the paint work. Nothing was damaged. _She feinted_, he realised, _she has tricked me_.

Eyes flashing, he turned back to the room at large. He spotted the open door.

His Father's deepened voice boomed inside his head,_ 'You are to be charged with her care. You are to watch and keep her with you until our business is completed. Do I make myself clear?'_

Artemis sprinted from the room. Holly followed.

As the youngest Fowl skidded into the corridor his mind suggested calling for Butler. _No_, he thought quickly, _Butler__ would be seen_. _Father would know that I have failed him in my duty._ And that just couldn't happen.

He could see scuff marks in the antique carpeting where her ill-fitting shoes had struggled to retain any grip. He followed them, dark eyes downcast. On reaching the marble staircase he descended, landing at the Manor's second floor.

Artemis felt a strange tension as he tracked her scuffled footsteps. What would he do once he had caught her? Would he drag her back up the stairs? Would he be forced to yank on her pigtails just like her repulsive Father had? He shook his head sharply and continued to pad down this new corridor.

The scuffs in the carpet were growing closer and fainter, as if the girl had hesitated, not knowing which way to hide. They eventually disappeared under a doorway to the right.

'Got you…' he whispered, grinning like a shark that's just spotted a bare behind.

He quietly turned the doorknob and entered the room. The lights were off, but Artemis could still recognise his Father's old desk and high backed executive chair. This was an unused office; the space Artemis Senior had vacated in favour of a more spacious, comfortable room on the third floor. Random pieces of unwanted furniture were pushed up against the walls, things his mother had wanted to keep but not be seen.

'I know you're in here.' said Artemis clearly, his eyes resting suspiciously on each discarded fixture. He walked further into the room, shadows looming through the gloom, 'So if you come out right now, I'll consider _not_ informing Mr Shinner of your childish misbehaviour.'

Then he heard noises. He froze, ears straining. There were voices, deep voices coming from back down the corridor, heading his way. Artemis could hear his Father's bass tones and the guttural monotone that was Mr Shinner.

He ran towards an old towering wardrobe and wrenched open the door. To his eternal surprise a pair of grubby hands reached out from the inside and grabbed his lapels, yanking him up into the wardrobe. Once he was safely hidden beside her, Annie shot out a hand and whipped the closet door shut.

The door to the office was barged open and the light flashed on.

Artemis Senior and Harold Shinner struggled inside the room. They were carrying a third man between them, who was only half conscious and bound by the hands. They dragged him the last few metres before dropping him at the foot of the desk.

'Shut the door.' Snapped Shinner and the other obeyed, closing the lock with a sharp click.

The man on the floor groaned, raising his head slightly.

Annie let out a sharp gasp and Artemis clasped a hand over her mouth. Both children froze in fear of discovery but thankfully the cry appeared to have gone unnoticed by the rest of the room.

'Are we safe here?' asked Shinner sharply.

The boy shifted, letting the girl go and tried to peer through the thin gap in the doors.

'Yes.' Replied his Father, 'I had it soundproofed many years ago so Angeline…' He stopped, looking slightly ashamed.

Shinner grunted, 'The wife upstairs?'

'Yes, on the floor above.'

'Well let's just hope she stays there.'

He turned his attention to the man on the floor. His head had sunk into the carpet again, apparently unconscious. Shinner wasn't to be fooled.

'Get up!' he spat, ramming a hard boot into the man's stomach, 'Get up now!'

Artemis heard Annie's breath quicken beside him.

'Mr Shinner…' groaned the man. 'Please…' The answer was another sharp kick.

Artemis Senior spoke softly, 'It would be wise, Mr Francis, to listen to my companion.'

The man on the floor coughed and groaned again. Harold Shinner lost patience. He stooped, grabbing at the man's lank hair and dragged him upright, much like the way he handled his own daughter. He thrust the man back into an abandoned dining chair. He sat in it, at an angle, his mouth dripping blood onto the carpet.

Artemis looked to his Father but Artemis Senior didn't appear to care.

'So.' boomed Shinner, who had pulled up a seat opposite Mr Francis, 'What went wrong Pete?'

'I…I…I don't know what you mean…' stuttered the sweating Francis.

Shinner took out a battered tin from inside his suit jacket and took out a pre-prepared roll-up, sliding it to the corner of his mouth.

'Don't lie to me Pete.' He said lazily, patting his suit for a light, 'I don't like liars.'

'Mr Shinner…'

'Please, call me Harold.'

'Harold, Sir, I really…I mean I don't-'

'Where's that bastard lighter gone?!' burst Shinner suddenly.

Artemis felt Annie suddenly grip his arm.

Francis quivered, 'Lighter?'

'Timmy, you got a light?!' barked Shinner over his shoulder.

'No Harold, I'm sorry to say...'

The squat man swore again. The boy in the closet felt for the hand tightening on his sleeve and gently prised it off.

'Well.' Continued Shinner, 'If I don't have this fag soon I just might kill something.'

Francis looked genuinely terrified, 'I have matches!' he practically screamed, 'Top Pocket! Top pocket!'

Harold Shinner reached forward, dipping his hand into the opposite man's jacket.

'Much obliged.' He nodded, cupping the cigarette and lighting it expertly.

He took a deep drag and sighed, 'Much better… Now where were we? Ah, yes…'

Quicker than Artemis would have thought possible Harold Shinner was on his feet, his free hands gripping Francis' collar.

'Where's the money?!' he bellowed into his face.

'I'll have it soon!' cried Francis 'I just need a few more days!'

'We gave you three hundred grands worth of kit, Francis! We want our results!'

'Please! Harold, Mr Shinner- '

The squat man punched him hard and Francis cried out. The man started weeping silently; his tears mingling with the blood.

'I want the truth!' spat the elder man, leering over Pete 'I want the truth Francis or you'll be getting hits all night!'

'It… It…'

'Yeah?! Where is it?!'

'It…It was taken.'

'What do you mean taken?!'

Shinner dropped the man back into his chair, his face mutinous.

Francis spat bitterly, 'We'd sold it. We'd sold it _all_. Got over six hundred K for it but those _bastards_ of old Belfast's come and took it.'

'Old Belfast's?'

'Aye, ransacked the fucking lot.'

Shinner got up, turning his back on the dealer. He glared at his silent partner.

'Y'hear that? Old Belfast's lads. You'd have thought he wouldn'ta dared.'

Artemis Senior's voice was cold, 'obviously he's forgotten his place, if the man is stealing _our_ takings.'

'That or he's lost his mind.'

'We should have foreseen this. Something will have to be done.'

'Oh, aye, I'll send a crew first thing. Teach 'em a bloody lesson in respecting their elders.'

Behind him Francis coughed, 'Mr Shinner, I just wanted to say-'

Harold Shinner swivelled, pulling a shining revolver from the depths of his moth-eaten pockets and fired one shot at the already injured man. The force of the bullet knocked Peter Francis backwards, the chair falling with him. He crashed into the space at the foot of the wardrobe; dead before he'd even hit the carpet.

Annie shoved up her hands to muffle Artemis' startled scream.

'Is your crew going to be strong enough?' asked Artemis Senior, acting as if Shinner had just swatted a vaguely irritating fly. 'If Belfast is confident enough to steal from us, he must have a strong band…'

'I'll deal with it. I'll go personally.'

Annie lowered her fingers hesitantly, feeling the boy's chest heave beside her. She felt his fingers grip her arm but didn't reach up to detach them.

'I would like to accompany you but…'

'Wife giving you trouble again? Divorce her; worked for me.'

'Indeed…'

There was a pause as all four occupants of the room stared at the corpse leaking onto the carpet.

'You got somewhere to get rid of that?' asked Shinner eventually.

The elder Fowl nodded, 'In the woods behind us. It's quite a populated graveyard. It has been used by my family for centuries…'

Harold nodded. 'I'll help you shift it.'

Both men bent towards the cooling Peter Francis, hoisting him back into their arms. They undid the lock and dragged him back out the door in much the same way they had dragged him in. Perhaps the second time they used more care as neither gentleman wanted to stain his clothes…

Eventually their staggered footsteps faded. Annie leant forward, slowly pushing open the creaking closet door.

'I think it's safe now.' She whispered, even though her Father was far out of earshot.

She tried to leave the wardrobe, to clamber down but the little boy's hand was still tight on her forearm. She paused, looking wearily into his shocked face.

'He killed him' he croaked, 'And Father he… he watched… he didn't care…'

Annie watched him silently. She reached for the hand gripping her sleeve and prised it off gently to hold it with her own, squeezing the boy's fingers tightly.

'We need to get back to your room.' She said quietly. 'They need to find us there, remember?'

The boy seemed to shake himself, 'Yes.' He said, sounding more sure, 'Yes of course. I'll lead the way.'

He jumped from the closet, swiftly dropping her hand. Annie followed, grimacing as they tiptoed around the fresh stain to the rug.

The journey back to Artemis' bedroom felt longer than the boy had ever experienced. He avoided the eyes of the many familiar Fowl portraits lining the walls, his mind full of the thought of the dozen or so ancestors who had started and frequented the family _graveyard_. He listened to Annie's soft steady footsteps and for some reason regretted dropping her warm fingers. There had been a definite comfort in those few seconds of contact and she had just automatically provided it.

'We should act like nothing has happened.' said Artemis, once he had locked his bedroom door behind them. 'We can't let them suspect we have seen anything… unusual.'

Annie nodded. She looked like she wanted to say something but just bit her lip instead. Artemis turned away, he wasn't sure if he wanted to talk anymore.

'I'm sorry about the painting.' She said quietly.

The boy turned back to her, 'You didn't damage it.'

'Oh… oh good…'

There was a sharp rap at the door.

Annie jumped, 'That was quick.'

Artemis frowned, 'Too quick.'

He pulled open the door.

'Good evening.' said his Father, 'I am here for the girl.'

Artemis forced himself to smile. It was a tremendous effort. Annie appeared at his shoulder.

'Sir.' She said politely

'Your Father will be meeting you outside, girl. He asks you to wait in the car and be ready to leave.'

'Has he gone on an errand Sir?' she asked innocently.

Artemis Senior's expression never wavered. 'Yes.' He replied, 'With my manservant. He will return shortly… Now come along, I will take you downstairs.'

She brushed swiftly past Artemis and he felt her press something warm and hard into his hand. His Father turned without a backwards glance and strode down the corridor. Annie followed, having to half run to keep up.

'Goodbye.' whispered the boy, his fist clenched around her gift. 'Goodbye Annie.'

He closed the door softly and slid the bolt across. Looking down, he slowly opened his hand. Sat, in the centre of his sweaty palm lay the golden lighter.

* * *

There we go :) Hopefully I should post the next one sooner but I've got my HAT test coming up and the school musical to battle with... It will depend if I get many reviews (_**HINT HINT**_)

_Thanks for reading :)_


	3. Chapter 3 Confession Time

I'm baaaaaack. Yay!

Right. MEGA APOLOGIES for being so _incredibly _late with this chapter... I have no excuse. BUT by way of saying sorry... I'm going to respond to some of the main issues that've come up in the reviews I've received so far.

_**Q. Who the heck's Annie? Is she dead or what?**_

**A. Annie is a big part of the main mystery, so I really can't say too much... She effects so much of Artemis in later chapters (what he does and why etc.) which you'll see when the dreams catch up with what happens in the AF books (lemar snatching onwards, the seige etc.). So keep reading and it'll gradually be revealed.**

**_Q. Why did Holly diappear half way through the dream sequence..?_**

**A. My bad. Holly, in the dreams, becomes a sort of omniscient-spirit-thing who watches but can't speak or touch (apart from when Annie's there). I guess I was so caught up in writing the dream that I kind of forgot to keep writing her in... Sorry Holly...**

_**Q. Where is this story going?**_

**A. Ha! Lol. I had comments that this fic seemed a little disjointed - Logan 1047 said "right now its like flashes of memory that lead to no obvious problem" which is a fair comment. This fic is about Artemis' past catching up with his present so I am doing a lot of back story. At the moment it does seem a tad... _random_ but soon Holly will start seeing things that are pretty close to home... and it will start gaining shape, I promise. Holly and Artemis of the present will be mobilised and hopefully you'll feel that there's more of a direction to this story. **

AN/ - Thank for the grammar pointers from Lili & Liris :) I'm pretty sure I've fixed any major humdingers this time!

AN/2 - To Captain Holly Short Of The LEP - Yeah I _detest _Artemis Senior so bad. I mean, in my opinion he's the reason why Artemis is so messed up socially and emotionally. And he just comes back in the third book all like 'You must be a hero Arty because you've been a bad child and I'm so amazing and loving and just the number one dad in the whole wide world even _without_ both legs and I save the enviroment and I love my wife and I blah blah blah... '

*takes a breath*

YOU'RE AN EVIL PIECE OF SCUM WHO RUINED ARTEMIS' CHILDHOOD AND TURNED HIM INTO A TWISTED, OBNOXIOUS (albeit lovable) NUT!

disclaimer - I am not Eoin Colfer. I do not own the Artemis Fowl series.

**Yeah. hopefully you'll enjoy this :)**

* * *

_**'Oh, hi Artemis! Listen, **__**I've been having dreams about your Father murdering random people and burying them the decorative verge...**_

_**Does that ring any bells?'**_

* * *

Chapter 3 – Confession Time

Evolution had granted centaurs large hands. This was a feature that was generally approved of by most of the equidaeous race especially when you had to play hand tennis or maybe slap a mouthy dwarf round the back of the head, but it was not, however, such a good thing when you needed to wire a locating device that was smaller than the average ladybird.

Foaly sighed, raising his gloved hands in the air and breathing deeply through his nose.

'Calm...' he told himself, 'Stay calm...'

He'd been trying to attach the last micro diode to his new 'sucker bug' for the last 11 hours and his nerves were beginning to wear thin. To tell the truth he was half an inch from dashing his precious gadget against the ops booth's plexi-glass wall.

Wiping a bead of sweat away with a hairy forearm, he bent once more to the workbench.

'Carefully.' He murmured, brandishing needle-like tweezers, 'Carefully now...'

He could see his tool shaking as he inched towards the diode.

'Come on.' He grunted, nudging the last minute wire into place, 'Another nanometre...'

The intercom on the wall blurted to life, 'HELLO? MR FOALY?'

The centaur's fingers slipped, sending his pin thin tweezers punching through his own prized invention. His mouth dropped open in a silent scream.

'MR FOALY? ARE YOU BUSY?'

His scream became suddenly vocal.

Foaly roared to his feet, slamming all four hooves into the floor. Striding to the door he wrenched open the pass panel, pummelling the release button.

'Ah!' beamed the two foot pixie revealed behind the sliding portal, 'There you are, Sir-!'

'Are you on fire, Krunk?' hissed Foaly dangerously.

Krunk looked up into his boss's bloodshot eyes, both pupils magnified to twice their size by the tech-goggles.

He cowered behind his clipboard, 'No, I'm not on-'

'Is Opal Koboi attacking the building?'

'No-'

'Are there _mudmen_ attacking the building?'

'No-'

'Is the Cavern caving in?'

'No-'

'Has Caballine filed a divorce case?'

'No-'

Foaly took a deep, deep breath.

'Then _why,_' he seethed, 'in the name of _all_ that is Frond are you knocking on _my_ door WHEN I SAID _SPECIFICALLY _THAT I WASN'T TO BE DISTURBED?'

The pixie gaped, opening and closing his mouth several times without a sound. Foaly bent closer, pushing his face a centimetre from Krunk's own.

'_Huh_, Krunk? Any explanations? Any at all?'

'Because I needed to talk to you.'

Foaly and Krunk's heads both snapped to the left.

Captain Holly Short was stood a few steps behind the shaken pixie, her mix-matched eyes looking pointedly at the centaur.

'Oh.' Said Foaly, deflating like a punctured balloon, 'Right...'

Krunk sighed with relief as the centaur stood back and silently gestured for his elven friend to follow him inside. The pixie sniffed, composing himself, before scurrying away as quickly as possible.

Inside the booth Foaly folded out a chair from a hidden rack on the wall, kicking aside some broken wing prototypes so Holly could have some space to sit.

'You okay?' he asked, pulling out his own modified chair, 'I heard about you helping Trouble- I mean _The_ _Commander _with that new recruit training.' The centaur smirked at her, 'I mean, I know he was short of staff and everything but I think the fact that he specifically asked _you_ to help means that he has-'

'Foaly, I've been having dreams.'

Holly was gazing at her friend, both eyes watching him intently.

The centaur shuffled slightly, disgruntled by the interruption 'Um...and..?'

'Dreams...about Artemis Fowl.'

Foaly leant slowly back in his chair, looking strangely uncomfortable. He averted his eyes, rubbing the long loose hairs at the nape of his neck.

'A-about Artemis, eh?' repeated the centaur after a somewhat awkward pause, 'Well that's... that's something...'

Holly narrowed her eyes, 'Foaly. I haven't said what the dreams were about yet...'

Foaly winced, 'Um, do I really want to know?'

The elf looked scandalised, 'Foaly, what-?'

'I mean, I know the two of you have got..._closer_ over the years...' said the centaur uneasily 'But... he _is _a... a mud boy-man-thing and you're... you're about... 60 years _older_ than him...'

Holly blinked, utterly nonplussed.

'Not that I'm judging you!' he cried, instantly horrified 'No! I wouldn't! I mean... if you really feel that way about him... like that... then I'm sure... 'love will find a way' and all that... stuff...'

It was Holly's turn to be horrified.

'ARH!' she screamed.

Foaly jumped backwards in shock, accidently jabbing his left flank on a protruding screwdriver.

'I haven't been dreaming about him like _that_!' she hissed, her eyes wide with shock and an all too clear understanding, '_Gods_ no! And you thought... you thought...?'

'Well.' laughed Foaly unsteadily, warm relief beginning to wash through his bones 'when you said you were _dreaming_. And you did y'know, _kiss _him the last time you were in contact.'

Holly's cheeks coloured, 'I thought we'd agreed never to mention that.'

The centaur sat gingerly back on his chair.

'Well. If you weren't dreaming about him like _that_' (Holly's blush deepened), 'and I'm assuming that it wasn't a "I was playing crunch-ball in a tutu while Artemis cooked a giant curry" type of dream... what do you need to speak to me for?'

The elf's face darkened. She looked away from Foaly and down at her suddenly clammy hands, rubbing them up and down her muscled thighs.

'You... you know I wouldn't be talking to you about this if I wasn't serious?'

'Yes...'

'Because I know this is going to sound insane. It sounds insane to _me_.'

'Okay, I'm listening...'

Holly took a breath.

'I've been having dreams about Artemis... as a child and... and I think they're real.'

Both Foaly's considerable eyebrows shot into his hairline, 'You think they're _real_?'

'Yes.'

'As in, you're having "_visions_ _of_ _his_ _past"_ kind of real?

'Yes.'

The two old friends looked at each other for a long moment.

Foaly glanced away first, leaning towards his computer keyboard and tapping a few choice buttons.

'Okay...' he muttered eventually, reading the data now scrolling along his monitor, 'Have you been having a lot of these dreams?'

Holly closed her eyes, 'I've had two; one on the way to the training ground and one _inside_ the training ground.'

'And was that before or after you'd sustained that smack to the head?' asked Foaly casually, still looking at his computer screen.

Holly caught the tone, 'One before and one after..._' _she growled.

'Just asking.' Said Foaly innocently, 'So what's in the dreams?'

'Artemis but younger. Younger than I've ever seen him. In the first dream he was only a few years old.'

'And what happened to him? In the dream?'

'He caught his Father burying a corpse in the manor grounds.'

Foaly stared at her, 'Whaaat...?'

The elf looked uncomfortable, 'His Father's bodyguard found him digging up the body and threatened to bury him too if he ever told anyone about what he'd found.'

'And the next dream?'

'He was older, but only by a few years. He met one of his Father's associates, a Mr Shinner and was told to look after his daughter, Annie, until they came back. She escaped his bedroom and Artemis chased her to another room on the floor below. They were interrupted by both their Fathers and had to hide in the cupboard. Another man was dragged into the room and was interrogated before Shinner shot him dead.'

The centaur grimaced, 'And... and you think what you saw... has actually happened?'

Holly's frown deepened, 'Yes.' she said firmly, 'they weren't like normal dreams, Foaly. They were too clear. I can still smell the forest. I can still feel his carpet under my feet.'

Foaly turned away looking undeniably worried. The elf reached for his arm.

'You do believe me don't you?' she asked quietly

He avoided her eyes, 'I believe... that you believe...'

'There's got to be an explanation.' she said, ignoring his last comment, 'And I think that it's his _eye._'

'His what-?'

She jabbed a finger towards her left eye socket, or specifically to the pale blue iris staring from it.

'Artemis and I swapped an eye during the time stream so maybe I'm just seeing... what this eye has already seen...'

Foaly coughed awkwardly, 'Yeah. That could be it.' he said, his voice straining to keep the scepticism away, '_Or _we could take into account that your head had been subjected to quite a large blow today and that maybe you're just not all that tip top yet.'

'My head is _fine_.' growled the elf 'These dreams have _nothing_ to do with a concussion. I know they're something else!'

Foaly held up his palms, 'Okay, okay! Whatever you say. But you know there's only one way to find out for sure.'

'And what's that?' she asked, though she already knew the answer

'Ask Artemis about it.'

Holly bit her lip, standing from her chair and crossing her arms.

'I... I nearly called him straight from the training ground but...'

'Then you imagined the conversation?'

She winced, 'Yes.'

'"Oh, hi Artemis!"' supplied Foaly, '"Listen, I've been having dreams about your Father murdering random people and burying them the decorative verge... Ring any bells?"' the centaur sighed heavily, 'Yep, that would go down _really_ well...'

Holly sat back down, groaning into her hands. Foaly placed a comforting palm on her shoulder.

'Listen.' He said softly, 'Go home and sleep on it. It's not like you can do anything about it. If what you're seeing _is_ real then it happened over ten years ago... you can't change it... and we always knew that Artemis had a dark past...'

She sat up, staring at a shadowed spot on the floor some feet away.

'I'm just afraid of what I'll see next.' She said quietly

Foaly looked into her eyes and saw real concern there deep within the mix-matched irises. He swallowed.

'Go home.' He repeated, 'If you feel the same way in the morning or have another dream, come back here and I'll help you look into it. Maybe we could bring No1 in, ask him what he thinks.'

He followed Holly to the door and watched her walk away from his booth, waving at her half-heartedly before she turned a corner and disappeared.

Once he'd resealed the door he went back to his computer, wiggling his fingers before lowering them to the keyboard.

He pulled up one of his comprehensive human databases and hesitated once before typing 'Annie Shinner' into the flashing search box.

Three seconds later one gently pulsing name appeared on screen.

The centaur leaned in closely, his heart rate increasing a few beats and clicked it.

* * *

Holly lay back on her futon, staring darkly at the stippled ceiling of her bedroom-come-living room.

She felt like it was the morning after a drunken party and every stupid thing she'd done or said the night before was now flooding back to her mind, making her want to shrink and cringe beneath the bed sheets.

Except that she been starkly sober when she'd told Foaly that she was having psychic dreams of Artemis's disturbed childhood and it was still the same _bloody_ day.

The elf tossed roughly, punching her pillow as she rolled.

_Get a grip! _She thought angrily,_ You are Holly Short!_ _The first ever female officer in Recon! You don't believe in '_biological psychic links_' for Frond's sake! That's for gnomes in their five hundreds watching 'It's a miracle with Doma Rowney' whilst grazing on their hover-couches... I mean, you've experienced a kind of mental link with Artemis before, right?... but that was when you were speeding through the time stream, not when you were thousands of miles away from him without a single crisis in sight... _

She bounced her fists angrily off the mattress before rolling over again.

'Get a grip.' She muttered, head butting the pillow and finally closing her eyes, 'Think about it in the morning...'

Once Holly was properly dozing it didn't take long for Annie to come for her.

The young girl was dressed in yellow this time, her bare feet skipping silently across the short space to Holly's side.

'Come on.' said the girl, holding out a white hand, 'You've got more to see yet.'

'More?' questioned Holly, using Annie's outstretched palm to lever herself up from the ground.

'Much more.'

Then she was gone.

Holly found herself in a human study. A wood burning fire was roaring to the left of her, its mantel piece rising about a foot above her head. On the right hand wall, book shelves took up all the available space, each level filled with hundreds of antique tomes. A large armchair stood a short distance from the hearth, tall, imposing and also occupied.

'Are you ready son?' asked a seated Artemis Senior, eyes blazing like the logs in the grate, 'Do you have everything you need? Everything you have been told to acquire?'

Artemis junior was positioned on one of the many flagstones closer to the fire, his right cheek growing red from the heat.

'I have Father.' Replied the eight year old, 'I am fully equipped.'

'Excellent. And you understand completely what is required of you?'

'Yes, Father.'

The Fowl elder smirked wryly, 'But of course you do. You're a smart man.'

Artemis' lips twitched as he fought back a pleased smile.

'Thank you, Father.'

Artemis senior glanced at the Georgian carriage clock perched atop the mantel.

'It is nearly time!' he barked, standing swiftly to his feet.

Artemis looked up at his Father; his wide set eyes almost reverent in their expression.

'Tonight, Arty.' declared the taller human, 'Tonight you will become part of a Fowl legacy that has lasted over five hundred years.'

The boy stood a little straighter as his parent began to slowly pace the room.

'_My_ Father completed his first professional heist at age twelve._ I_ was age ten. You will best us both Artemis, I know it.'

The boy's face was serious, 'I will not let you down.'

Artemis senior turned, gazing intently at his son.

'No. You won't. And remember!' he thrust a hand at the shield hanging high above the fire. '_Aurum potestas est!_'

'Gold is power.' murmured Artemis.

The elder man nodded proudly.

'And never forget it...'

Angeline fowl was waiting at the bottom of the staircase and she smiled as both Artemis's descended to meet her. Holly walked beside them, though of course she couldn't be seen.

Angeline kissed her son's cheek, then rubbed his shoulders affectionately, 'Have you got everything?' she asked, bending to meet his eyes, 'Have you packed your pyjamas? And your toothpaste?'

'_Yes, _mother.' grumbled Artemis, feeling guilty in the deceit.

'Have you remembered your sponge?'

'_Yes_.'

'And spare underwear for the morning?'

'Angeline...' interrupted her husband, putting an arm round Angeline's waist, 'Stop embarrassing the boy. I'm sure he has everything he needs...'

She smiled sadly at her son, 'I know. A mother just needs to ask these things.'

A car horn sounded from outside.

'That's the signal.' Acknowledged Artemis Senior softly

'Have a good time, dear.' said Angeline, kissing the boy one last time.

Artemis shouldered his back pack, striding towards the main doors. A tall, hulking figure emerged from the shadows on the west side of the hall moving quickly to his charge's shoulder.

'Butler!' called a cold voice from behind.

Both boy and servant turned and looked to the speaker.

'You will not be accompanying Artemis tonight.' ordered the Fowl Patriarch, his voice quiet but crystal clear, 'He is attending a child's slumber party, not a Columbian drug meet. There will be no need for your services.'

Angeline frowned at her husband, 'What he means, Butler. What _we_ mean, is that we think it would be prudent for Artemis to spend some time with his peers unsupervised. He is eight years old after all. It will be a new experience for him, a positive experience I know.'

Artemis looked up at his manservant, his heart pounding.

He hadn't thought about leaving Butler behind. He'd just assumed he'd be coming to help him, to get him through the night ahead. Butler _always_ came with him. Every day since he was born, every night, every place, every journey, every-

'Artemis?'

The boy's head snapped up.

'Yes, Father?'

Artemis Senior gave him a warning look, 'You'd better hurry, boy. You don't want to keep your hosts waiting.'

The eight year old glanced up at his manservant, his face uncharacteristically unsure. Butler, however, nodded once at the child; somehow conveying a silent reassurance before holding open the main doors. Artemis ducked his head, brushed past his lifelong ally and ran out into the night.

A black sedan was pulled up on the gravel drive outside with its back door wide open.

'Come on Art!' called the figure hanging from the back seat, 'We haven't got all decade y'know!'

Artemis' heart lightened slightly when he heard her voice. He slipped swiftly in beside her and slammed the door shut, Holly just managing to whip both legs in after him.

'You excited?' whispered Annie, as the boy clipped his seatbelt in place.

'I am ready.' Replied the boy stiffly.

The girl scowled, elbowing her friend in his skinny ribs.

'_Yeah_.' She persisted, 'but are you _excited_?'

He looked down at his pale fingers, letting his fringe fall over his eyes. Annie huffed impatiently, worming sideways in her seat and lying backwards so she could peek into Artemis' down-turned face.

'Come on, Art.' She grinned, 'you can say it. You can say you're _excited. _'

He stared at her wide eyes and even wider smile and felt the corners of his mouth twitch, quite without his permission.

'Ha!' cried Annie, snapping upright, 'There! I saw it! I saw a smile!'

'You are _ridiculous_.' Stated the boy, but it was a half hearted rebuke.

Annie beamed at her partner's face, his small nose wrinkling as he tried to control his own mutinous lips.

She always loved it when he smiled. It was like he'd become a different person. You no longer saw the shadows in his cheeks or the premature wrinkles beginning to spread like cracked glass from the corner of his eyes. She saw her boy, the boy Artemis Fowl truly was.

Annie could see it, and so could the invisible elf sat beside her.

'_Shurrup back there_!' shouted a voice angrily from the driver's seat, 'What d'you think this is? The coach t'fuckin Disneyland?'

Someone hissed in the passenger seat, 'D'you know who that kid is, Peters? He's the boss's only son, so you'd better keep your gob shut.'

'Fowl's kid?'

'Yeah.'

The driver looked in the rear view mirror, narrow, piggy eyes staring at the two children.

'What's your name?' he barked.

'Annie.' answered the girl, taking an instant dislike to the man.

'Not you!' spat the driver, 'The boy.'

'My name is Artemis Fowl.' Said Artemis levelly, his shoulder rubbing Annie's.

'Artemis? _Artemis_? But- but that's a _girl's_ name isn't it?'

The car was filled with the sounds of harsh, mocking laughter.

Artemis waited patiently for it to subside. He was used to this taunt from the school play ground, and his general policy was just to ignore it. He hadn't found a retort yet that didn't just invite fresh gales of-

Annie had whipped off her seatbelt, ramming herself forward between the front seats.

'Yeah!' she shouted, 'Yeah, okay, maybe in _this _country 'Artemis' is meant to be a girl's name, after some Greek goddess of hunting or _something_. But every now and then, Peters, a boy can come along who's so good at hunting that he earns the right to use her name.

She snorted derisively, 'I mean, why the hell do you think we're _in _this car Peters? To just tag along for the ride? No. We're here because we're damn good at what we do, and you better start respecting that because Art here,' she jerked her head towards the back seat, 'he's Artemis the Hunter for a reason. And if you're _really_ not careful... he'll soon be hunting _you_.'

She rocked back into her seat as silence filled the close interior.

Peters glanced once into the rear view mirror to see Artemis the Hunter looking straight back; his earlier smile now twisted into a newly discovered vampire alternative.

'Yes, Miss.' Muttered the driver, looking back ahead to the road.

'I'll have to remember that outburst.' whispered Artemis, as Annie re-buckled her lap belt, 'I have a feeling it may come in handy some day.'

She smirked, chewing absently on a hang-nail, 'Maybe.' She said, 'But not today. Because Holly's blasted alarm is going off—'

The elf sat bolt upright in bed.

She was back in her own room.

Without a car or criminal in sight.

'I'm awake!' she yelled at her alarm clock, which whined softly before shutting off, having registered the required decibels to stop the wailing mechanism.

She crashed backwards onto the bed again and let a deep breath into the silence.

_So I'm still having the dreams... _she thought miserably, _But_ w_hy-?_

A sudden buzzing noise broke her out of her reverie.

'I'M _AWAKE_!' she bellowed, then realised it wasn't her alarm.

Tumbling clumsily out of bed she made for her coffee table, pushing aside magazines and greasy take-out cartons before finally finding what she was looking for.

She flicked the communicator opened.

'Hello?' she said, pressing the receiver to her ear, 'Artemis? Is that you?'

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**And that's a wrap!**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

**I know I left this terrible gap between last time and this time but seriously it was your reviews that gave me the motivation to start typing again.**

**And I promise (hand on heart) to respond directly to every question, query, or angry WTF? that is asked of me at the beginning of each chapter. So feel free to bombard if you want to.**

**Please bombard.**

Please.


	4. Chapter 4 Fathers Night

Hey!

As promised - Reviewer Feed Back (in order of received)

**xXSanctusAvaritiaXx** - Yes, I need one of those alarm clocks too! I got the idea from my ethics teacher who said he'd had one in the eighties which he'd shout swear words at and it'd turn off. To bombard – means dropping things (heavy things usually) in large quantities onto something else. Usually has connotations of war – heavy shelling/bombing etc. I just meant that people should inundate me with reviews :) Also, just to clear this up - Artemis wasn't going to a sleepover at the end of the last chapter, that was just a lie told to placate his mum... (the plot thickens)**  
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_**FoxGlade**_**_ - _**Loving the crazy enthusiasm! *punches air* Thanks! Yes! Plot points coming! I've decided on two... maybe three... the plot bunnies are breeding but I know how this is going to end, so that's good :)

**Lili** - THANK YOU FOR TEACHING ME SPEECH GRAMMAR! God, I'm so glad you did. I was speaking to my friend (who hated English class and is about to do chemistry in uni) and SHE knew how to do it and I didn't... I'd never even noticed before, and you made it so clear! Thank you! Please read this chapter – hopefully I've got it right this time – and feel free to critique again, your comments are DEFINITELY welcomed :D

**HappyHappyJoyjoy -** My do you love the caps lock! Thank you!

**Ru-Doragon -** I love that you gave me a little insight into your morning routine in your review, unorthodox but it made me smile... I also liked the fact that you like this story even though 'it doesn't make much sense' LMAO. Thanks for the review!

**CileoCrimisi - **I know it's a little late but here's the update :) I'm not _eight _months off time...

**Harprani - **So you want Holly to tell Artemis about the dreams? Well tbh I actually wrote that whole scene out for this chapter (all nine pages of it) but... promptly deleted it. That's most of the reason why this is late. I wrote so many different people on the end of Holly's communicator before finally deciding on...

**RoseRedMisery - **Sorry chick/butt but it's not gonna happen tonight :) Don't be too angry with me *cowers*

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**THINGS YOU MAY NOT BE FAMILIAR WITH SO SHOULD LEARN BEFORE READING THIS CHAPTER!**

To get _plastered_ - To get very very very DRUNK!

_Hookah_ - multi-hosed tobacco pipe originating from India (but you can find them all over now) where the smoke is cooled and filtered by passing it through water. They can also be used to smoke other _stuff_ as well as tobacco.

_The Picture of Dorian Gray_ - AMAZING novel written by the Irish-born genius Oscar Wilde. It's about a young London socialite who makes a wish to keep his beautiful looks forever and is granted his request in the form of a portrait (painted by his doting friend) which ages and withers instead of him. Dorian then goes on to indulge in a whole manner of scandalous acts (murder, drugs, drink and *gasp* homosexuality (although that is only strongly insinuated... very strongly)) and watches as through the years only his painting bares any outward consequences of his actions. Eventually the guilt drives him barmy and he confronts his portrait at the end of the book. Some of you may have seen the film version that wasn't made that long ago...

_Louis XVI (16th)_ - King who was executed in the French Revolution by GUILLOTINE, so he lost his HEAD... His son, another Louis, never inherited the throne because a republic was set up after his father's death and the ten year old heir died of horrific maltreatment before the restoration could come about. However, out of respect for the lost child-king the next ruling monarch became Louis XVIII (18th) and not Louis XVII (17th) in recognition that that title should have belonged to the young prince. (you don't need to know the last bit about Louis XVII but my mum told me it on the way to Tesco one day and I thought it might be interesting to pass on. Was I right, lol?)

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**Disclaimer : I am not Eoin Colfer but all the characters in this fic belong to him... apart from The Baron, Tuley, Volga and Henry the acne-ridden Octopus.  
**

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**_'Do you keep your portrait in your bedroom__?'_**

**_'Sadly, no. The only portrait in my room is of you, my dear, in which you are completely naked but for your collagen vagina...'_**

**_.  
_**

* * *

_A sudden buzzing noise broke her out of her reverie._

_'I'M AWAKE!' she bellowed, then realised it wasn't her alarm._

_Tumbling clumsily out of bed she made for her coffee table, pushing aside magazines and greasy take-out cartons before finally finding what she was looking for._

_She flicked the communicator open._

_'Hello?' she said, pressing the receiver to her ear. 'Artemis? Is that you?'_

Chapter 4 - Fathers Night

'No,' came the somewhat disgruntled reply. 'It's me, Trouble.'

Holly felt relief melt her knees to jelly.

'_Trouble_!' she breathed. 'It's _you_!'

'I think we've established that...'

She gave a laugh, clapping a hand to her forehead.

'Gods, I thought you were-'

'Artemis Fowl,' completed Trouble. 'I know.'

Holly flopped back onto her battered two-seater.

'So what's up? I mean...' she coughed, trying to regain some degree of professionalism. 'What's the situation, Sir?

'No situation, Holly. Not that I'm aware of anyway... but you do seem to be expecting a call from the world's most infamous mud-weasel, so who knows? We could all be about to die.'

The she-elf blinked.

'And what's that supposed to mean?'

The Commander snorted and to Holly's sensitive ears it sounded like he'd pulled sandpaper across his own nose.

'Don't give me that, Hol. You know full well what I mean. Gods! If you told me he'd built a concentration camp for unicorns I wouldn't be bloody surprised.'

Holly gaped.

'Concentration camp for-? Trouble, what are you _talking _about?'

'Oh, you know.' He said bitterly. 'Just that whenever Fowl gets in contact with the People it's usually because he's about to drag us into some sort of horrific catastrophe which _he's_ caused, but wants us to get him out of regardless of whether anyone has to risk _death _along the way.'

'That's not true,' said Holly flatly.

Back in his own cramped inner-city apartment, Trouble Kelp put a clenched fist to his forehead.

'And there you go again, Holly! Defending him! Like he's somehow worth your effort!'

Holly sat up, her countenance equal parts amazed and enraged.

'Damn _right_ he's worth the effort, Trouble! He's a changed man! Atlantis Complex was one of the best things that could have happened to him. He's been forced to realise the cost of his mistakes.'

'Doesn't mean he'll stop making them.'

Holly was fuming.

'Why did you call me, Trouble? Was it really to start another row about Artemis?'

'No but almost.'

'_Why_?'

'Foaly told me to phone you,' he said, as if laying down a winning trump in cards. 'He said you'd been acting strangely yesterday and that as your commanding officer I should keep an eye on you.'

Holly felt like her chair had been pulled from under her, dumping her with a thump to the floor.

'HE TOLD YOU _WHAT_?'

Trouble raised a jinking eyebrow.

'I would remind you, _Captain _that I am your commanding officer and will be spoken to with the proper tone and respect.'

The she-elf smirked nastily, an expression she'd learnt from a certain human boy.

'But of course, _Commander_,' she simpered. 'I wouldn't dream of speaking out of turn! Which is why I say this with the utmost respect...'

Holly held the phone out in front of her.

'GET OVER YOUR RIDICULOUS JEALOUSLY OF ARTEMIS, STOP GOSSIPING ABOUT ME BEHIND MY BACK AND NEVER CALL ME AGAIN AT_ TEN IN THE FRIGGIN MORNING _AS IF WE HAVE SOME SORT OF ONGOING PERSONAL RELATIONSHIP!'

The elf hurled the handset onto her abandoned bed sheets and let out a frustrated howl.

_I'm going to regret that later_, she thought as she stripped angrily for the shower. _But right now I couldn't give a flying Fowl._

_

* * *

_

'Artemis _Fowl_! It has been _much_ too long!'

Baron Victor Kilglooney strode over to his newest guests and seized the hand of Artemis Senior.

The Fowl Patriarch smiled.

'Victor,' he said genially, shaking the pudgy palm. 'It is good to see you also. I assume you remember my wife?'

'Dear Angeline!' exclaimed the man, 'How could I forget?'

He reached for her hand, taking it carefully in his own and pecking the skin above her knuckles.

'Good evening, Baron,' she said warmly, 'and thank you for inviting us tonight. You have a truly beautiful home.'

Victor laughed dismissively at his own grand entrance hall; an area which was perhaps twice the size of Fowl Manor's own towering lobby. It was also three times as bright; hung as it was with several low hanging chandeliers, with lit silk drapes streaming from the walls. Milling people filled the rest of the space, gathering around little tables filled with upper-class nibbles and uniformed by golden feather centre pieces.

'You flatter me, Angeline,' blushed the Baron, his ruddy face turning an even deeper puce. 'You have always been too kind...'

The mother smiled and placed a delicate hand on her son's shoulder, pressing him into Victor's attentions.

'I doubt you will remember _this_ Artemis. After all, he was only an infant the last time you met.'

Vincent appraised the teenager before him. The boy was dressed impeccably, wearing his tuxedo with a sort of familiar ease that the Baron had never seen in a person that age. His dark hair was slicked back from his face revealing a large forehead and darkly shadowed eyes, but a clearly youthful face.

_So the rumours are true, _thought Victor. _He hasn't aged a day._

'Nonsense!' exclaimed the round host amicably despite his secret discomfort. 'Of course I recognise him! He has barely grown after all!'

Artemis' parents laughed. Their son was about to reply with something scathing when a thick knuckle pressed between his shoulder blades, stilling his tongue. It was Butler of course, reminding him to keep civil.

'It is good to see you, Victor,' said Artemis Junior stiffly. 'You look well.'

The Baron rubbed his paunch fondly.

'Hmm. Not bad, not bad. My daughter, Maria, has got me into all sorts of sports lately; badminton, horse riding, even _Karate_ of all things!'

Artemis glanced once at the speaker's stomach.

'Yes,' he drawled. 'I have always heard you were a... _well_-_rounded_ gentlemen.'

'Artemis!' interrupted Angeline brightly, as aware as Butler of her son's sharp tongue. 'Why don't you go join the other young people? Go and mingle, hmm?'

'Excellent idea!' proclaimed Victor brightly. 'I dare say they'll welcome it, a new face to talk to!'

_Or a fresh bone to chew on, _thought the Fowl heir wryly.

'Yes,' agreed Artemis Senior. 'I think that would be best. Although I haven't seen many teenagers around here, Victor. Have you locked them all away somewhere?'

'Of a sorts!' admitted Victor with a chuckle. 'My youngest, Martin, has set up a sort of retreat for them all in the east wing. There's a disco-tech, some games tables and plenty of hidden corners for them all to skulk in. It's quite the den! Of course I suspect he's also stocked it with enough hard liquor to sustain the Russian army but who's to begrudge the young ones a bit of light fun. It's not as if they're in _common_ company is it? Perfectly safe within the house.'

'There we are, darling,' said Angeline, squeezing her son's arm, 'a good chance for you to enjoy yourself.'

'But not _too_ much enjoyment,' added Artemis Senior smirking slightly. 'I remember many a happy drunken night when I was his age, but they were always invariably followed by a miserable sober morning and half of it spent in the company of a bucket.'

Three fifths of the company laughed at this. Butler and Artemis kept their faces a practiced mask; one out of professionalism, the other to disguise his disgust.

'Well, off you go then son,' ordered Artemis Senior, his eyes bright. 'You'll only be bored stood here with us.'

The teenager smiled tightly before nodding once to the Baron and walking away from his parents.

Once clear of the general hubbub, Butler spoke to his charge.

'I'm going to take a wild guess here,' he growled, 'and say you're not going to want to go to Martin Kilglooney's _den _and spend the night getting plastered on rum and fruit flavoured alcopops. Do you want me to find an empty room for you? In the library perhaps?'

'No,' replied Artemis crisply. 'I am _indeed_ heading towards Master Kilglooney's den but do not, however, intend to get remotely _plastered _within it. It is my Mother's plain wish that I socialise more with people my age and frankly, Butler, I am sick of the constant encouragement. By showing my face at this...' His nose wrinkled disdainfully. '_Gathering, _perhaps she will relent in her haranguing.'

The giant Eurasian was more than a little surprised.

'Are... are you sure?'

'Quite. I will be there five hours maximum, and what could possibly happen in five hours in _this _house with nothing more to amuse me than a room full of drunken pubescents and a _disco-tech?_'

_What indeed? _thought Butler, mentally rolling his eyes. _After all, the siege was only three hours longer and nothing horrible happened there did it... _

The grinding but unmistakable noise of heavy dance music began to drift into both men's ears as they grew closer to the east wing. Groups of teenagers started appearing in litters along the luxury corridors either leaning against the stippled walls or being propped up by another person, leering dizzily.

'Attractive,' observed Artemis dryly.

He could see the entrance to '_The_ _Den'_ now, framed by wide double doors both folded back so large groups could pass through without difficulty. Two black curtains obscured the rest of the party, so all Butler or Artemis could see were brief glimpses of strobe lighting as the drapes were pulled apart by teenagers leaving and going.

Artemis turned to face his manservant.

'I think I can take it from here, Butler,' he said, having to raise his voice slightly over the mix of booming music and squealing drunken teen. 'I'd escape while you can.'

'Hmm,' droned Butler thoughtfully. 'Noise, darkness and hundreds of spoilt, drunken, possibly angry and or amative fourteen to nineteen year old all trapped in a small heated space... I'm sorry Artemis but there is no way on this _planet _that I am allowing you in that room alone.'

The Fowl heir steepled his fingers.

'Butler. You are always telling me that one day there will come a time when you will not be able to accompany me... you have also told me that one day there will come a time, possibly a risky or nerve-racking time, when I am not going to _want _you to accompany me...do you catch my drift?'

The Eurasian's mouth was slightly open.

_Am I getting this right? _He asked himself. _ Artemis, MY Artemis, wants me to go away so he can-_

'_Henry_!' gasped a girl who was being pressed against the corridor wall by a gangly acne-ridden school boy. 'Get _off _me!'

The Henry in question glanced up from her chest, looking half panicked, half injured.

'But y'said y'wer up f'it,' he slurred, his face ruddy from rubbing his nose between her breasts.

'I _am_,' she confirmed impatiently. 'I just don't want you putting your fingers up my skirt in the middle of a sodding _corridor_!'

'Oh,' he said stupidly. 'Well why didn't y'say summin?'

He grabbed her hand and dragged her away, the girl staggering in her heels whilst singlehandedly tugging her top up.

Artemis raised one thin eyebrow and looked pointedly at his manservant.

'All clear?'

Butler nodded slowly.

'Crystal.'

'Good,' beamed the teenager. 'Well, if you'll excuse me...'

He dodged his towering manservant, heading swiftly for the open double-doors. Butler barely had time to blink before there was a swish of black curtain, a flash of escaping light and noise and the young master was gone.

The Eurasian watched the curtain for a long stunned moment before turning away and stalking back up the corridor.

_Artemis wouldn't want to be spied on_, he reasoned to himself, _and he'd only discover me if I did. Anyway, it _is_ only a teenager's party and not a Triad gathering..._

The manservant sighed, rubbing at the Kevlar weighing heavy in his chest.

_He's fifteen years old, Domovoi... it's natural that he's not going to want you around as much... he's growing up..._

He eventually emerged back into the main ballroom which was full to the ruffles with Europe's richest. Angeline Fowl was stood beside a towering hors d'oeuvres table talking in a small group of distinguished women. Every one of them was in a floor-length haute couture gown with a nugget-sized jewel dripping from every major pulse point.

Butler scanned the crowd for Mr Fowl and found him deep in conversation with a sallow-skinned Asian man and a worried looking Baron Kilglooney. Artemis's father was speaking lowly to them and gesturing discreetly in the direction of the staircase. Butler watched them move stealthily through the crowd before ascending the steps, the Asian man and the Baron exchanging nervous glances.

_Perhaps I should inform Artemis, _thought Butler automatically but then thought better of it.

_He probably doesn't want to be disturbed right now... _

A vision of Henry, the pimple faced boy with arms like an octopus, sprang suddenly into his mind.

_Don't be ridiculous, _he thought angrily._ Artemis is a gentlemen. A little unorthodox at times but he would never dream of acting lewd... and anyway, if he wants to meet a girl tonight then he isn't likely to do anything too dangerous or drastic like...like _kidnap_ one..._

Butler shivered involuntarily.

_No...Surely not..._

_

* * *

_

Artemis was breathing smoke again. He took long drags of it, letting it fuel his lungs, feeling it cloud his mind. Around him, flailing bodies wrote patterns in the fumes; their limbs carving twisted script into strobe-flashed smog. The crowd moved as one, jumped as one; connected by flesh, cloth and flying sweat. Heat pressed him, bass drummed him and his own mutinous heart rammed the inside of his ribcage like a hardened fist against prison bars.

The Fowl heir stuck close to the wall, skirting the masses that had flocked to the dance floor and passing into the relative calm of the lounge area.

The lounge area consisted of a dozen scattered card tables where groups of teenage oligarchs formed caricatures of Las Vegas casino scenes. Loose clothed girls draped themselves over the backs of stiff-seated boys, watching as their chosen player drank and sweated their way through rounds of poker or less confrontational black jack. Around the outskirts of the hall, low sofas were pushed back against the skirting boards. These were mostly occupied by adolescent lovers, their hands as unsteady as their breaths, but there were a few sofas which had been claimed by calmer tenants. These all crowded round embellished hookahs and Artemis watched as they passed the extending hoses between themselves, laughing as they exhaled swirling clouds from bitten plastic mouthpieces.

He looked around for a place to go next. The all-encompassing fumes were already beginning to make his head spin and he had no intention of going back to Butler without unchallenged control of his senses.

A wide balcony led out from the lounge where the odd pubescent raver was slumped against the balustrade in an attempt to cool down. Elder teenagers seemed to have gathered out there as well, laughing and joking together on the few couches they'd managed to drag outside. Artemis walked to a part of the barrier that was devoid of youthful occupation and leant against it restfully, staring out at the dark grounds spread before him.

'_Artemis_?' exclaimed a voice from behind him. 'Artemis Fowl, is that _you_?'

The Fowl heir turned. Stood just behind him was a tall boy of around seventeen years of age. He was dressed in a white tuxedo, a risky choice by most people's standards, but this youth was blessed with the double benefit of height and beauty so could pull it off without effort.

'Tuley Brannagh,' sighed Artemis. 'Looking well as always.'

Tuley pulled the shorter teen to him.

'God, we thought you were _dead_,' he breathed, hugging the Fowl close. 'But here you are still _obstinately_ alive and looking like you've never been better!'

'Oh, I do apologise,' replied Artemis from somewhere near the youth's chest. 'I never meant to disappoint you with my continuing existence. The next time I partake in a long leave of absence I'll be sure to _die_ before returning.'

Tuley laughed, releasing his friend and slinging a long arm round his shoulder.

'Come,' he said brightly. 'Let's get away from the _scummy_ _hoards_. I've a room prepared upstairs where we can both catch up properly...'

Artemis sat back in a recently restored Georgian armchair and let out a contented sigh. A fire glowed not four feet from him and a worthy companion was laid on the chaise longue opposite, resting a glass of some golden liquid on his smooth stomach.

'So where did you go, Art?' asked Tuley Brannagh curiously, his left hand dangling to the carpet. 'And don't tell me to "respect your family privacy". Tell me properly.'

Artemis smiled.

'I was confronting some... personal demons.'

'Loan sharks?'

The younger teen laughed, sliding deeper into the cushions. 'Nothing so mundane.'

Tuley was disgruntled. 'And your appearance?' he said. 'You were missing for three years and yet you look like you've never left. How do you explain that?'

Artemis smirked. 'Guess.'

Brannagh's eyes narrowed. '_No_. There's no point in guessing when you're just going to tell me.'

There was a tense silence in which Artemis was reminded that despite appearances he was still speaking to a boy hardened by years of criminal activity and unused to being played with or refused.

The last time they'd met, Tuley Brannagh had been thirteen years old and had been working hard to assist his mother in her world renowned 'hired-help' business. This would seem to have been a healthy occupation for a young, impressionable teenager... except the people hired from Sheila Brannagh's help were all female, all _asassins_ and all very good at their job.

The Brannaghs were not a family you'd be wise to upset.

'Alright,' accepted Artemis, sitting straighter. 'I'll tell you. But you are not going to believe me.'

Tuley sat forward on the couch, his suit jacket opening to reveal the strap of his shoulder-holster.

'Try me,' he said quietly.

Artemis sighed. 'Magic.'

'_Magic_?'

'Magic,' confirmed the smaller teen, leaning forward towards a crystal decanter on the table. 'Or more specifically _time_ _travel_. I look no older because I am no older. Simple.'

Tuley stared at him, his smooth jaw tensed. Artemis remembered the expression well; the boy was either about to shoot him or burst out laughing. He was betting on the latter, but who knew with Tuley Brannagh.

The bigger teen let out a sudden bark of mirth.

'Fine!' he declared, throwing his hands up. 'You win, _fairy boy_, have it your own way. I'm bound to find out the real truth at some point. I bet it is something deliciously _embarrassing_ and that's why you're refusing to tell...'

Artemis smiled into his fat tumbler, relieved that his gamble had paid off.

'Anyway,' continued Tuley who had stood to refill his glass. 'What's all this I hear about you going on the straight and narrow? I've heard the rumours and I haven't believed them, but I still want a contradiction from the horse's mouth.'

The Fowl heir frowned at this.

'There is no contradiction,' he said. 'I have given up crime... on the whole. By the end of this year I will have tied up any loose endeavours and will be completely clean.'

The juvenile Hit-man manager gawped openly.

'_What_?' he bellowed, his natural Derry accent rearing up in his anguish. 'But you're a _Fowl_! It's what you_ do_! What you gonna do instead, huh? Take up feckin _pottery_?'

Artemis snorted.

'No,' he said patiently. 'I have taken up Environmentalism; a much more satisfying past time.'

'_Environmentalism_,' repeated Brannagh weakly. 'That's even _worse__..._'

The door opened behind him, admitting a dark haired girl of around eighteen years of age, dressed from head to toe in glittering Vera Wang.

'So it's true,' sneered the girl. 'Artemis Fowl Junior has come back to haunt us. And just when I thought I'd never have to see your _ratty_ little face again.'

'Ah, my dear Volga,' smiled Artemis, standing respectfully. 'You don't need to waste your pleasantries on _me_. I imagine it is quite an effort to speak with a plastic face.'

Tuley half smirked, half winced.

'Now, now, children,' he said, stepping between the girl and Artemis. 'We are all friends here.'

Volga Boujinsky tossed her dark hair angrily over her shoulder, grabbed the trail of her dress and stalked further into the room.

'I don't know how you've got the nerve, _Art_,' she spat, her accent betraying her eastern European past, 'to mock me for a little cosmetic surgery when you have _plainly_ had the works.'

Artemis blinked.

'Firstly,' he said coldly. 'To say that you have had a _little _cosmetic surgery is like saying Louis XVI had a bit of a haircut. Secondly, I have never been vain or _desperate_ enough to undergo a serious operation for reasons surplus to my health, nor will I ever. So, Volga, I regret to inform you that you are sorely mistaken on both accounts.'

Volga glared at him venomously.

Elgar Boujinsky had been an illegal shipping tycoon, specialising in provisions smuggling and mass transportation. Almost a decade ago he had formed a deal with Artemis Senior to open a new trade route to the old Boujinsky homeland, starting with a sweetener of 250,000 cans of cola. Elgar had been so confident in the plan he'd accompanied his partner on the maiden voyage of 'The Fowl Star', a boat he'd had named for the Irish crime lord, and as a result had died in the sinking.

The underworld had lost its best boat-man, and Volga had lost her Father at ten years of age.

For this reason she _hated_ the Fowls.

'He's telling the truth,' noted Tuley from the fire. 'It is _magic _not surgeons that are keeping him young.'

The girl huffed and sat down in Brannagh's vacated spot.

'Of course,' she spat. 'It was only a matter of time until he started dealing with the devil. Do you keep the portrait in your bedroom, _Dorian_? Has it already started to decay from your _soul_?'

'Sadly no,' drawled Artemis, his face picture of regret. 'The only portrait in my bedroom is of _you,_ Volga, in which you are completely naked but for your collagen vagina.'

The girl's eyes widened.

'Artemis,' snapped Tuley. 'Stop it.'

The Fowl heir dipped his head to the taller teen before sinking back into his seat. It felt good to let rip after so long of being civil; his Atlantis rehab had been so taxingly polite.

'Is it time yet?' demanded the Boujinsky heir, whilst determinedly not looking at Artemis. 'Have they all gathered?'

'Well it is nearly midnight,' observed Tuley. 'They can't be far off starting now.'

'Starting what?' asked Artemis, this new revelation breaking him from his thoughts.

The elder teens exchanged knowing glances.

'The meeting. What else would we be talking about?'

The Irishman's frown deepened. He was not used to being the only ignorant one in a room.

'I don't know,' he said levelly, his pride in his throat. 'I was not aware of any meeting.'

The girl smirked nastily.

'Out of the loop are we?' she sneered, her nose wrinkling to the extent the plastic would allow. 'Not so hot now your girlfriend's _dead_.'

Artemis' expression froze.

'_Volga_,' barked Tuley.

Brannagh glared down thunderously at Volga, warning her with his eyes before turning back to Artemis who hadn't moved an inch since the girl's comment.

'There's a meeting tonight for all the top European bosses,' he explained softly. 'All that would come. They're gathering to hear from a relative newcomer who's been making a name for himself these last few years. Goes by the alias "The Neck"'

'"The Neck"' repeated Artemis, some distant expression creeping back into his eyes.

'Hmm,' nodded Tuley. 'The name sounds laughable, I know, but this man has already proved himself to be truly dangerous. Rumours are he was behind the mafia purge in Russia six months ago _and_ he was the one who reopened the Singapore drug routes. Apparently he's done a lot more besides but through other families and organisations.'

He took a swig from his glass.

'"The Neck" doesn't like to crow.'

Artemis stared at the fire. 'It seems as if he is simply reclaiming my Father's old stamping grounds.'

'Well, of course!' sneered Volga and the two boys raised their eyebrows.

She blushed but kept her face determinedly brazen.

'Your Father has been out of action for half a decade,' she continued. 'All his old ties are abandoned. Only a fool wouldn't take advantage of the new territory...'

Artemis nodded.

'She's right. It's what I would have done if I hadn't...'

'Developed a moral compass?' suggested Tuley.

The fifteen year old smiled. 'Exactly.'

'They are meeting in the west wing,' continued the girl, smoothing her dress. 'Around twenty members altogether.'

'My mother is in there,' said Tuley.

'And mine,' nodded Volga. 'She has been continuing my father's work since...'

She trailed off.

'Well,' murmured Artemis, breaking the silence. 'This is most intriging... but really has nothing at all to do with me, not anymore. The Fowl Family are now completely legitimate, every single one of us.'

Tuley and Volga exchanged underhand glances.

Not underhand enough.

'What?' snapped Artemis, his gaze flicking between the both of them. 'What do you know?'

'Not much,' admitted Tuley, avoiding his eyes. 'Just that the meeting tonight is for _all_ the top bosses, retired or otherwise...'

Volga's expression hardened. 'It's a recruiting session, meant to persuade active members to join the Neck's organisation and for the retired ones to reactivate and reoffer their services as well. He is meant to be making them an offer that they will all be unable to refuse...'

Artemis felt like he'd swallowed something by accident. Something heavy and putrid.

'And my Father...' he whispered.

Volga and Tuley both looked down at him.

'I saw him go up with them,' said the girl. 'He will be a part of the meeting.'

'Part of the _conscription_,' corrected the taller boy bitterly.

The Fowl Heir gripped tightly to the leather of his armrests.

'And when does this meeting start?'

Tuley glanced at the clock.

'Around two minutes ago.'

Artemis lurched out of his seat and sprinted from the room.

* * *

**So what did you think?**

**This will be the partner plot to the whole 'dream sequence' line so I hope you liked the introduction.**

**Good idea? Bad idea?**

**I'm just really interested in exploring the crime side of Artemis' family. I mean it's got to be difficult to just _stop _being a Crime Lord after having a family reputation spanning several centuries...  
**

**I'd love to hear your views :)**

**But Holly will definitely be back again in the next chapter and so (I think) will her dreams!**

_On another note... I wrote an entry for Kitsune Heart's 'The Big Reveal' competition (or how I like to think of it: THE COMPETITION) called Diamond Grains and Talus Piles, so I'd ask you to go check it out if you already haven't. You can vote for it if you like on Kit's profile (don't know when the poll opens) but it's really just my first go at writing romance so I'm mostly just looking for constructive critique. Thanks guys!_

**_NOW REVIEW THIS CHAPTER_**

or we'll be forced to duel Orion style...

**_'Please sweet reviewers do not force my hand! for I will strike for the good of all!'_**


	5. Chapter 5 All Thumbs

Oh ma Gawd! An update within a four month period *clasp hands to cheeks* AMAZING!

Shall I tell you what else is amazing...?

I AM GOING TO UNIVERSITY!

I GOT IN!

Two A*'s and Two A's firmly gives me a place at one of the top five unis in the UK. Go me *waves the ellie flag*.

Any hoo...

I had a grand total of...SIXTEEN REVIEWS PEOPLE! The most I've _ever_ had for a fic, leaving me well and truly chuffed :)

**THUS** the early update, and this_ beast_ of a chapter! Three parts people, totally knackered me out. So I hope ya likes it.

* * *

**_REVIEWER FEEDBACK! _**

_Diana's Sagittar_ - Firstly, your brother has an awesome name :) Secondly, thanks for saying that the last chap was by best yet - improvement is the aim of my game lol - so it's nice to know that's working out...

_Lli_ - Thanks for the grammar tips again! They were duly noted. I loved the demonstration sentence, it made me smile *smiles*. Artemis + cooking just don't mix, regardless of whether he's sane or not. And yeah! What was with the lack of sarky mean-ness from Artemis in TAC? I mean, we got the stump bit at the beginning and that was about... it? Anyway, thanks!

_Ann Incorporated - _I'm glad you liked the insults - so fun to write! So they'll probably be more where that came from...

_Bibliolympian_ - I'VE UPPED THE WORD COUNT! Please don't shout at me again... *cowers*

_Holly Bluemoon_ - Thank you for the speechless quality to your review - it fluttered me heartstrings, lol!

_mischievious101 - _Sorry for not putting a spoiler warning! Argh! I hope you've read it by now though..?

_vermismortifer - _The present day 'Criminal swamp' has been left reasonably alone for this chappie (apart from a brief sneek peek in the middle) but I shall be wading back in for the next update, because indeed I find it fascinating...and 'crotched'... LMFAO, I hadn't spotted that (well, obv). What would that mean? I don't know. It sounds like the name you'd give to genital knit-wear but that's just my twisted theory... Thanks!

_CieloCrimisi - _Okay the trap theory... cold! You'll have to read the next update to know what went on after Arty legs it from Tuley and Volga... You like Annie? Good! She's back in this chap, with knives, lol.

_Hello- I am me - _Hi, I'm me too :) Here's the update!

_Harprani - _You're wish is my command! Here's Holly, finding out more! Kinda...

_nabbi - _Dude, thanks! :)

_Lady Recondite - _Any A/H in this? Kinda - later, later on. But if you're reading this for A/H loving, you're going to be disappointed. It's not like that. Somebody just gets pissed about the _possibility_ or maybe the realities of A/H.

_Silverphoenix -_ Artemis and Holly talking? Heh, keep reading my friend. I'm glad you think my Arty is different btw, I'm taking that as a sound compliment :)

_Kaiyt_ - I'm glad you reviewed! I'm glad I drew you in :) So here comes some more 'personal-violence-acceptance-issued-questioned stuffs' :) And of course we may duel Orion style, my fine Lady! I throw my gilded gauntlet at your feet!

_(If I missed anyone out it's probs because I PM'd you... if not, I can only apologise and I'll make sure to catch you next time!)_

_

* * *

_

QUICK NOTE

The second part of this (the dream) is a contiuation of the _last_ dream where Art & Annie are about to go rob someplace for their first proper solo heist. Just a reminder :)

I'll leave you in peace now... ;)

* * *

**_'Listen to me. I know you don't want to do this. There are probably gonna to be lots of things in our futures that you're not gonna want to do, but we're still gonna do them, you understand? It just comes with the territory of who we are.'_**

* * *

Chapter Five - All Thumbs

The door to the ops booth hissed open.

'Ah, Krunk,' sighed Foaly without bothering to look up, 'only _you_ could take four hours to recalibrate a dorsal transistor, but better late than never I suppose. Give it over...'

The centaur flipped a hand over his shoulder, fully expecting to feel the gentle weight of the prototype being placed on his palm.

He was being far too optimistic.

'ARGH!'

His face slammed nose-first into the desk, his hairy arm twisted behind him to an unnatural degree.

'Holly!' he gasped, his cheek bruising against the imitation chestnut. 'Holly, get off, you're hurting me!'

The she-elf snarled, adjusting her grip painfully on his wrist.

Captain Holly Short had stormed down to police plaza that morning, ignoring the chorus of honks and blasts from under commuters' hot bonnets as she'd stopped a whole inner-city traffic lane just to take a short cut. A few of the more irate drivers had actually got out of their vehicles to make their displeasure more verbal, but after one glance at Holly, or more specifically her thunderous eyes, they had all got quickly back in their cars.

'You told _Trouble_,' she hissed, her left boot resting on Foaly's chair, the right jammed against his shoulder joint.

The centaur swallowed, causing his protruding Adam's apple to grate against the edge of the desk.

'I _had_ to tell Trouble,' he gasped, reverting to the safety of the LEP regulation handbook. 'You're a _Captain_ in one of the most dangerous jobs you could be in. If I find anything that could potentially hinder you in your post, thereby putting other officers at risk, I have a professional duty to inform your commanding officer. '

Holly's eyes narrowed to slits. 'I trusted you, centaur. I trusted you with something I didn't want to tell anyone else and you went and blabbed to _Trouble Kelp_.'

Foaly scowled.

'Yes,' he snapped, his natural pique flaring despite the boot on his shoulder. 'Yes I did, and then he phoned you, I know. But did you _have_ to tell him to stop being jealous of _Artemis_ _Fowl_? S_eriously_? That was quite possibly the _worst_ thing you could have said. Ever.'

Holly dropped his arm and the technician groaned in relief.

'Do _not _turn this around on me!' she shouted, pointing a sharp finger in his face. 'Don't you _dare_! I wouldn't even have spoken to him this morning if it wasn't for your big _mouth_!'

'Oh that's right,' he sulked. 'Pull out the mouth jokes. Let's all have a good laugh at Foaly's massive jaws...'

Holly's face deadpanned.

'Do I look like I'm in the mood for a pity party, centaur?'

He picked himself up from his desk, wincing as he slowly revolved his shoulder.

'No, I know,' he sighed, 'and I'm sorry, I should have warned you before telling Kelp. But I don't think you realise how _worried_ you had me yesterday. You burst in here, looking like a friggin _zombie_ in uniform, telling me you were having _psychic_ _visions_ in your sleep! Visions about secret burials and-and...' he looked away from her, 'and imaginary little girls!'

Holly's eyebrow twitched. 'If you're talking about Annie...?'

'Of course I'm talking about _Annie_!' he snapped, his eyes flashing back to hers. 'Who else would I be talking about?'

The room fell silent and Foaly turned his chair back to face his desk.

'Now if you'd excuse me,' he said, 'I have work to be getting on with; _important_ _work_ that needs to be completed without distraction...'

Holly glowered at him. She stalked away from his desk and grabbed the same fold-out chair she'd occupied the day before, wrenching it open and dropping ungraciously into its cloth cradle. Around the room hundreds of monitors surrounded her, displaying everything from Inner-city traffic reports to maps recording possible locations of the 'still-contentedly-at-large' Opal Koboi.

After a long, silent moment the elf broke the quiet.

'I know you don't believe my dreams are real, Foaly,' she said, in a way that signalled she didn't much care either, 'but I had another one last night, just the same as the others.'

Foaly didn't show any exterior signs of having heard her.

'_And_,' she continued, 'I've decided that I need to start investigating what I'm seeing. I can't just ask Artemis; he'd either blow up, or just deny everything, therefore... I've got to start gathering some evidence.'

The centaur spoke at last, 'And where are you going to get _that _from_, _pray tell?'

Holly leant forward, her eyes glinting.

'Fowl Manor.'

Foaly turned to gawp openly at his friend.

'_What?_'

'Fowl Manor.' She repeated. 'My dreams tell me that the bodies were always dumped in a forest at the back of the Manor grounds. _So,_ if I could just go and run a scan of the clearing I could prove straight away whether the bodies _exist_ or not, therefore proving whether my dreams are _real_ or not.'

Foaly closed his eyes, putting a hand to each of his temples.

'Wait, wait, wait,' he demanded, his voice a mixture between exasperation and derision, 'So you're telling me you want to break _into _Fowl manor, _without_ Artemis knowing, to search for evidence of possibly _imaginary_ murders committed by his Father over a _decade_ ago...?'

Holly considered this statement for a moment. 'Yep,' she said eventually. 'That's about it.'

The centaur stared at her as if she was attempting to lick her own elbow.

'You're insane,' he said flatly, 'and plainly delusional. There is _no possible_ _way_ you're going to get inside that house without either Artemis or Butler knowing about it first. The whole estate is a veritable _minefield_ of anti-fairy technology! It's got shield deflectors, laser sensors, DNA stun-cannons, everything _Fowl_ _can_ _think_ _of_ to protect his home and his family from any unwanted visitors, not to mention all the stuff _I_ provided him in case our dear Opal decides to drop him a visit.'

'But I'm _not_ Opal Koboi,' retorted Holly, 'and I've got no intention of going inside the actual _manor_. I only need to reach the woods. My dreams tell me that the bodies were always taken to a _clearing_- '

Foaly whinnied with frustration. 'Your dreams aren't telling you _anything_, Holly, because they're just that; _dreams_!'

She shook her head slowly.

'I know it sounds insane but-'

Foaly cut impatiently across her.

'I found the girl!'

The elf's eyes widened.

'_What_?'

'Annie Shinner. I found her, on the database.'

'And you didn't mention this earlier?' shouted Holly.

Foaly snorted belligerently. 'You never asked!'

He swivelled in his chair before she could retort and yanked a small screen towards him. On it, he opened up a recent human census page; recent in fairy terms anyway.

'There was only one name,' he said, typing swiftly, 'only one name in the entire world.'

Holly stayed silent as he navigated to the right page, her heart hammering in her chest.

_Is this it? _she wondered, her breath ragged. _Have I found her? Is there proof already that she exists?_

'There,' declared the centaur, eventually. 'There she is; the only Annie Shinner born within the last four hundred years.'

Holly looked at the picture.

It was of a dark skinned woman with her hair scraped back in a bun and a wooden clothes peg drooping from the corner of her frown. She was dressed in old mud-woman fashion with a long cotton dress and an off-white apron tied round her waist. Her thick arms supported an equally chubby babe straddling her left hip.

'That's not her,' whispered Holly, staring at the image.

Foaly rolled his eyes, 'Yeah, I'd gathered that much. _This_ Annie was born on the fifth of May 1880 in a house just outside of Southampton. She married a Mr Carlton Trent in 1899 and went on to have his five children. In 1912, Carlton lost his job at the local boot-lace factory and decided to move his family to America to find work. With the last of their savings he bought seven third class tickets for the RMS Titanic. Not one of them survived the trip.'

Holly shook her head.

'You've got the wrong one,' she said firmly. 'There's got to be another Annie Shinner, there _must_ be.'

'There isn't.'

'_There must be_.'

'No,' said Foaly firmly, switching the screen to stand-by, 'there mustn't. Because your Annie is a _dream,_ Holly, and that means she doesn't _have_ to exist.'

The elf was determined.

'Your records are wrong,' she told him, both eyes blazing. 'She exists and she needs me to find her.'

This last statement was a surprise even to Holly.

"_She needs me to find her"? _She thought, _when did I decide that?_

Holly grabbed her helmet from the workbench, deciding she could work that one out on the shuttle to Ireland.

Foaly seized her wrist as she made for the door. 'Holly, Holly, _wait_! Even if she does exist, what are _you_ supposed to do about it? So Artemis had a childhood friend, woop-de-doo!'

She turned to him.

'It's what she's _showing_ me, Foaly!' she hissed. 'It's the fact that for every dream, _she's_ the one that always brings me to Artemis. She must be doing it for some sort of a _reason.'_

The centaur was shaking his head now, his eyes filled with a mixture of frustration, confusion and could it be... pity?

'Oh, this is useless!' snapped Holly, wrenching her arm free. 'Y'know Foaly, I don't _care_ if you don't get this. I'll soon be proving it to you once for all. I'm going to go to the manor, and I'm going to find those bodies.'

Foaly lurched forwards.

'How are you even going to _get_ top side?' he demanded, actually using his own torso to bar her exit from the Ops booth. 'You think Trouble's going to give you clearance so you can go dig up Fowl's garden? And you will _need _his clearance, Holly, especially if you intend on using LEP gear to run all your _scans_. If you leave without his permission you'll be out of the force before you can say "_Trubs, I can explain_".

He was right, and she knew it.

'I'll get permission,' she snapped. 'Don't you worry about me.'

'But I am worried, Holly. I'm very worried indeed.'

The two friends looked at each other.

'Nine hours,' said the elf, raising her helmet in her hands. 'Give me just nine hours and I can finish this. All I need is _one_ scan, Foaly. And if I'm wrong... well, feel free to gloat all you want when I get back.'

Foaly's eyes were sad.

'And if you're right Holly? What then?'

The elf's fingers fumbled suddenly against her fastenings and the helmet dropped.

'I don't know,' she admitted quietly, 'but it still doesn't change a thing. I'm going to Fowl Manor and I'm going to prove that I'm right...once and for all.'

* * *

Annie had come back again. She was dressed all in green this time, her mahogany waves pulled back into a loose ponytail.

'Don't worry, Holly' she said, 'Foaly will come around eventually, they all will.'

The elf smiled sadly. 'He just doesn't understand how real you are to me, how clear everything is when I'm with you... I don't understand it myself.'

Annie put a warm hand to the elf's cheek and smiled her mysterious smile.

'You will.'

She disappeared and so did Holly.

Holly reappeared in a place where the only light came from security monitors lined along a concrete wall. Each showed a black and white view of an empty corridor. Every passage was empty and lifeless, all except for the jaunty advertising boards displaying the legend, 'The Royal Bank of Dublin', in plastic boards along their sides. The only screen not showing an office corridor was a large monitor to the right. This camera showed a vault door; steel, circular and complicated, guarding over the Irish depository's most precious treasures.

The room directly surrounding Holly was small and grim. Low counters dominated the limited space, one to support the CCTV stations and another to hold up a microwave, a veritable library of battered men's magazines and a kettle with a broken lead. The carpet was caked in crisp flakes and crumbs, not to mention rat-sized dust bunnies burrowing deep into the weave. Two short doors led off from the back; one was reinforced, barred and coded, but the other was just ordinary plywood.

Sat in one of the room's only two available swivel-chairs was a large man staring at the security screens, his eyes glassy and blood-shot. As Holly watched, he stretched and groaned, and flaps of loose skin swung like hammocks from below his triceps.

'Keeeer-_reist_!' he yawned, slapping his hands back down to his knees. 'I am so feckin _bored._'

A muffled voice shouted from behind the plywood door.

'Do some cleaning then ya' lazy cunt!'

The large man laughed, glancing over his shoulder towards the toilet.

'Nah, thanks!' he shouted jovially. 'I think I'm doing just fine here!'

He turned back to the screens, shifting his gargantuan rump deeper into the chair's padding.

'Anything good on?' he joked to the empty room. 'I wouldn't say "no" to a decent Bond film; something with a decent car chase, y'know..?'

He began to scan each monitor in turn, starting from left to right.

'Nope... nope...nothing, noth-'

His eyes froze on a monitor to the right.

He leant closer.

'What the...?'

He swivelled backwards, shouting towards the locked water closet. 'Hey, Kieran! There's something coming up on screen 67! Something approaching the main safe!'

'_Wha_?' yelled the muffled reply. 'Just deal with it, Bry! I'm busy!'

The fatter man turned back to the suspected screen and zoomed in.

'Holy Mother of Christ! Kier! It's a little girl! There's a _kid_ approaching the vault door!'

There was a grunt from the toilet and a muted oath. '_Wha'_? Look, if the screens are playing up just give 'em a slap!'

The stricken man did as he was told, but even after a third blow to the casing, a figure was still stubbornly present on screen.

'Kieran!' he bellowed, his eyes the size of saucers. 'She's gonna to hit the sensors! _She's gonna set all the alarms off!_'

There was another hefty grunt. 'BRIAN, JUST GET OFF YOUR FAT ARSE AND DEAL WITH IT, _AWRIGHT_? I'M BUSY!'

Brian gave a frustrated yowl and lurched from his chair, crossing to a locked security panel on the opposite wall. He yanked a thin chain from beneath his shirt and rammed the Abloy key at the end of it into the lock at the top of the box. As soon as the panel was released he fingered in the access code and shut down all the sensors and alarms that the little girl was just about to trigger.

He let out a shaky sigh.

'Crisis averted,' he murmured, as the small girl on screen wandered idly up to the vault's door, an action which moments earlier would have sent out a city-wide police alert, costing the bank thousands of euros for a false alarm...

Striding back to his work desk he grabbed his pass and security baton from a hook above the screens, jamming them both into his belt.

'I'm going down!' he called. 'There's an unsupervised child just wandering about. I'm gonna go pick her up.'

Kieran didn't appear to have heard._ 'Wah_?'

'Oh, feck off,' muttered Brian, tapping in his code and leaving via the second, more reinforced door, not bothering to close it properly behind him.

There was a flushing noise from behind the plywood and the next moment Kieran emerged, still busy zipping his flies.

'Wha you say, Bry?' he asked, looking up from his crotch.

The he noticed the empty room.

He crossed huffily to the monitors and watched as his obese companion lugged himself up each of the bank's grey, camera-watched corridors, heading ever closer to the stray girl on camera 67.

A quiet voice spoke from behind him.

'Good evening, Mr Farrow.'

Kieran leapt backwards in shock, his plastic security pass swinging back over his shoulder.

There was a young boy stood just inside the office having entered via the recently unsecured door. He was small, dark haired, and couldn't have been more than nine years of age. His smile, however, could have belonged to a much older being; to a creature who had seen things children weren't meant to have seen.

'What are you doing in here?' demanded a shaken Kieran, his hand clutched to his chest. 'You could've given me a heart attack.'

The boy's head twitched to one side.

'You're going to have to excuse my rudeness,' he whispered, 'but I never have much time for civil introductions.'

Kieran got slowly up from the desk, taking a few deep breaths.

'You're not with that other kid are you?' he panted, squinting at the child. 'What are you doing, just wandering around a place like this? Where's your mam?'

The boy's eyes narrowed. 'That is quite enough talk from you.'

Kieran frowned. 'Wah?'

Then the child stabbed him.

Holly watched, horrified, as the guard's eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled heavily to the matted carpet.

The boy was onto him like a spider to a fly, quickly wrenching the now empty hypodermic from the man's thigh. He searched his pockets with quick, nimble fingers, pulling out a pass, a wallet and a half eaten _Mars_ _bar_, tossing aside the latter with a repulsive sneer. Once he'd collected everything of worth his eyes flicked upwards to monitor 67, where the fat lump of Brian lay unconscious on the ground, over looked by a firmly conscious Annie Shinner. She turned her face to the camera, her own used hypodermic clenched in her fist.

'_Well come on then,_' she mouthed, gesturing to him impatiently. '_Get a shift on!_'

Artemis rose to his feet and clambered quickly into Brian's abandoned chair. With a quick yank of the under-seat lever he rose quickly to desk level and began to alter the CCTV. After a few seconds of tampering, every monitor showed a loop of how the bank had been an hour previous; empty and dull, without a mysterious adolescent in sight. Artemis grinned smugly.

_Perfect._

A small walkie-talkie bleeped at his hip.

'Stop inner-gloating, and get down here!' squawked a voice. 'We haven't got all day!'

'I wasn't gloating!' protested Artemis, sliding down from his perch. 'I was merely basking in the glory of our mutual success...'

The boy slipped from the booth and sprinted down the corridor, with Holly close on his heels.

'And there are worse habits than gloating you know. For instance, I could compulsively crack my knuckles... or pick my nose and play with the mucus.'

Annie turned to him as he entered her stretch of the corridor, standing up from inspecting the sleeping Brian.

'Don't get me wrong,_'_ she smirked, 'I'm really glad you don't flick boogers, but you do boast too much. _Way _too much...'

Artemis stopped neatly beside her, their heads at exactly the same height.

'I wiped the tapes and inserted a five hour minute loop,' he said, getting back to business. 'No-one will be able to gain anything from that avenue.'

'Right y'are,' nodded Annie, 'and I mixed an amnesiac in with the sedative, so your man and mine won't be _telling_ anyone about us either.'

The boy's eyebrows twitched upwards.

'An amnesiac, really?'

She shrugged.

'I got it off ma' dad. God knows what the side effects will be. They probably won't be able to remember anything past Christmas but hey-hoo, not our problem...'

She dropped quickly to the floor, grabbing Brian's left arm and tugging.

'We need to get this one over to the vault panel,' she grunted, her skinny arms taught with the strain. 'There's a finger print scanner and it won't budge until it's met with _his_ finger, probably a thumb by the looks of it.'

Artemis picked up Brian's other limb, giving it a weak tug.

'What other security precautions are there?' he panted.

'Just a number pass,' she answered, as between them they dragged the man hurriedly across the floor. 'It's a pretty weak system to be honest... I was disappointed.'

It took a lot of effort from the two nine year olds, both of them skinny, one of them undernourished, but they eventually managed to slide Brian's considerable bulk over to the vault door. Artemis dropped his share of the weight and stepped over the snoozing sentinel.

'I know the first code,' he breathed, reaching up and tapping in the numbers, his thin fingers gliding over the keypad. 'Mr Farrows had kindly left it in his pocket for me to find...'

There was a beep and a green light flashed below the pad.

'Stage one complete,' noted Artemis.

The girl frowned grimly. 'Now for stage two.'

The boy seized Brian's wrist, tugging it towards the security panel, and ultimately the scanner pad.

'His hand is about two feet too short for contact,' grumbled Artemis, stretching the limp limb as far as it would reach. 'Here, help me to put his back to the wall.'

They shifted the guard around until his backside was braced against the metal skirting and the boy swung Brian's arm backwards towards the pad again. The guard's wrist slapped uselessly against steel, fat fingers still a foot short of reaching their target.

'Damn it,' cursed Artemis. 'He can't reach.'

He glanced tensely at the girl beside him and Annie flipped both her palms up.

'Well don't look at me!' she protested. 'You're the one meant to be the _genius_ here.'

The boy nodded putting a hand to his temples. 'I know, I know,' he grumbled. 'I'm thinking...'

He scowled deeply and closed his eyes

'Is there any way we can lift him?' he questioned, eyes snapping back to Annie, 'or perhaps cause him to regain temporary consciousness? If we could keep him on the bare edge of lucidity, conceivably he could be convinced to unlock the safe without needin to become fully aware...'

The girl shook her head sharply.

'He's not moving for at least eight hours, not after what I shot him with. You could put a fog horn in his ear and he wouldn't twitch, and as for lifting him!' She snorted derisively. 'Yer man's gotta be over nineteen stone, Art. We had enough of a job just dragging him over here, let alone trying to get him vertical...'

'But if we had some sort of leverage,' pressed Artemis. 'Just to get him braced-'

'Leverage? Nothing short of a _fork-lift _is ever going to shift this guy!'

The boy threw both his arms up.

'Well you think of something then!' he snapped, face red, 'If you're so clever, _you_ think of something!'

Annie scowled. 'Will you just calm down, yeah? Jesus, you're always so _dramatic_. Count to ten or something!'

Artemis looked mutinous. '_I haven't got time to count to ten!_' he hissed. 'In case you've forgotten, we were supposed to be inside the main chamber by now!'

'Then count to five!'

They both glared at each other.

'Oh, this is _useless_,' spat Artemis, breaking away from her and beginning to pace. 'We are stuck, in the bowels of some half-rate deposit facility, with absolutely no useful resources, scuppered by an obese, _unconscious_, half-wit! This cannot be allowed to continue!'

Annie looked at him sullenly. 'So what do we do?'

'_I don't know_! But we are swiftly running out of time, and thus, _options_.'

The girl dropped down to the floor, scrutinising Brian's stubby digits.

'But all we've got to do...' she said slowly, 'is get his thumb...' she looked up the wall, 'to that panel..?'

'Yes,' answered Artemis shortly. 'I am glad to see you're keeping up.'

Annie chose to ignore the sarcasm, instead reaching into a pocket of her tracksuit.

'Well it's obvious then.'

Artemis looked up venomously. 'What's _obvious_?'

'What we have to do.'

She pulled a stubby metal handle from her pockets, and held it out before him.

'A flick knife,' said Artemis blankly, looking from her hand to her face. 'How does that solve anything? Unless you plan to use it to cut invisible pulley ropes so we can _winch_ up our fat friend here...'

Annie snapped the catch on the side of the knife and the three inch blade extended with a neat _snick_.

'_No_,' she said slowly, 'it's not for rope...'

Artemis watched the knife warily, like a stooge observing a hypnotist's pocket-watch.

'You know what they say...' murmured Annie, twisting the blade slowly in the air so the edge caught the light. 'If you can't take the panel to the thumb...'

Artemis' eyes suddenly snapped to hers, horror and understanding crashing through his brain like a bucket of iced water had been thrown against his scalp.

'_You want to cut his thumb off?_' he hissed,_ 'Are you insane?'_

Annie's lips formed a grim slash.

'What other options do we have? You said yourself we don't have any resources.'

The boy was incredulous. 'That doesn't mean we move straight to _mutilation_!'

Annie snorted impatiently, grabbing her friend by the lapels and giving him a slight shake.

'Get over it,' she snapped, her eyes hard. 'If we don't get this job done we'll both be killed tonight. My dad'll lynch me, your dad'll _bury_ you... a thumb here and there shouldn't make any difference to you!'

Artemis' stomach churned.

Annie took his hand and gently peeled apart his clenched fingers, slipping the switchblade into his palm.

'You'd better do it,' she said firmly, dropping to the floor and spreading Brian's hand flat to the floor. 'You've always had steadier hands than me.'

He shook his head, dropping the switchblade to the floor with a clatter.

'Think again, Ann,' he said. 'You cannot propose a course of action this _preposterous_ then expect me to be the one to carry it out.'

She looked up at him, waiting patiently.

'Get down here and do it, Art.'

'I said "no".'

'You won't say it a third time.'

Artemis raised an eyebrow, the universal symbol for: _You want to bet? _

Annie got back to her feet, scooping up the knife up as she went.

'Listen to me,' she said seriously, putting her hands on his shoulders. 'I know you don't want to do this. There are probably gonna to be _lots_ of things in our futures that you're not gonna want to do, but we're still gonna do them, you understand? It just comes with the territory of who we are.'

The child blinked angrily. He couldn't help thinking about how few steps there were between bodily mutilation and burying corpses in the ground. He was nine years old for God's sake. He didn't want to hurt anybody... but he was a nine year old _Fowl_, and Annie was right. Hurting people just came with the territory.

Annie crouched back to the floor.

Artemis gripped the knife tightly.

Holly watched on numbly.

'Alright,' whispered Annie, as he slowly crouched beside her, 'we'll do this on three.'

Artemis nodded grimly, positioning the blade between Brian's thumb knuckles; he wanted a clean cut if possible, with minimum sawing involved.

'One,' counted Annie, 'two... three... go.'

'That was four,' noted Artemis robotically, before forcing the blade sharply down.

* * *

Holly was woken by the sound of the tannoy.

_'This Trans-Nymph shuttle service from Haven Central to E4 - Tara has now reached its final destination of E4 – Tara. All passengers without shielding capabilities must please report to check-in desk four to be issued with above-ground camouflage suits. For all those travellers wishing to visit La Tia Fail during their visit, overland shuttle transfers are available from docking bay seven situated directly opposite Spud's Spud Emporium –"the place to satisfy all your potato needs". Passengers are reminded that County Dublin is off limits to all those without LEP level five security clearance and severe fines will be issued to all those found trespassing within the district boundaries.'_

Holly yawned and stretched, shaking her head free of any lingering images of knives.

_The siege was six years ago guys. Artemis isn't about to snatch someone again anytime soon. _

_'The temperature outside is five degrees centigrade and the local time is 00:15am. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you all for travelling with Trans-Nymph Shuttles and to wish you a happy and safe visit here on The Golden Isle.'_

The elf sighed with relief. It had been a long trip. Having been forced to take a public flight in order to avoid going through Trouble, she'd just hopped aboard the first shuttle available. Unfortunately, that had meant a ten hour journey instead of four and she'd had to endure service stops at every River bend Hick town under the crust.

'Have you got clearance for this equipment?' drawled the security gnome as Holly stuffed an LEP kit-bag into the customs scanner.

'Of course,' she snapped.

The gnome stared at her sceptically, his lower-jaw revolving slowly like a cow chewing a cud.

'Can I _see_ it then?'

Holly scowled.

She pulled the plastic pass from her top pocket and the gnome snatched it, pressing it to a glowing omni-bar stuck to his belt. There was a small beep and a green light flashed near his buckle. He handed the pass back to her, along with the bag.

He gave a long snort, hawking back what sounded like a kilogram of phlegm.

'Have a nice day, now.'

Holly smiled tightly. 'Like wise,'

She grabbed her equipment and moved away.

Once firmly clear of customs, she started breathing again. The pass she'd given him was months out of date and should have set off clanging alarms all round. She guessed that the special security status she'd been granted to guard Artemis in Atlantis still hadn't been revoked on the system. She'd thought that it wouldn't be, but she had still taken a bit of a risk in humping her LEP gear all this way with no guarantee she was even going to get it past Tara.

_Glad_ _to know I can though, _she thought happily, heading for the exit.

Once past the throngs of tourists, she lost no time in getting in the air, setting Fowl Manor into her helmet guidance system and letting the computer guide her course. She spread her arms out, rising quickly to five thousand feet, and closed her eyes.

Flying could usually wipe her mind of all thoughts and fears. It was in those sweet, sweet moments when she was trailing her finger tips through the under-bellies of clouds, or shadowing starlings across summer skylines that she felt completely at peace.

But not tonight; tonight her thoughts were in turmoil.

Tonight, she was flying to see if a man she had dived into nuclear arctic waters for was in fact nothing but a cold-blooded murderer.

Two days ago she would have dismissed even the slightest notion of it, but now...

There was also something else she couldn't get out of her head. It was a conversation she'd had on the same day that she'd saved him; a day that now felt like a life time away.

'_Tell me something, Fowl. Your Father. Is he like you?'_

_The mud-boy's step faltered for an instant. _

'_That's a strange question. Why do you ask?'_

'_Well, you're no friend to the People. What if the man we're trying to rescue is the man who will destroy us?'_

_There was a long silence. _

_Artemis' chin dropped onto his chest._

'_You have no cause to be alarmed, Captain. My father, though some of his ventures were undoubtedly illegal, was...is... a noble man. The idea of harming another creature would be repugnant to him.'_

Had he lied?

Trudging through an arctic snow storm, on his way to rescuing a father he apparently _worshipped_, had a thirteen year old Artemis Fowl lied to her?

She would find out soon enough.

Fowl Manor from above was just as she remembered. There was the same gentle curve to the landscape, the same gravel-snake drive scarring a path through the acres. The road wound its way through meadow and idyllic greenery to eventually end at the land's crowning stone behemoth; Artemis' ancestral home. The woods lay to the east, skulking in the shadow of the main building.

Something flashed in Holly's peripheral vision, causing her head to snap to the left.

Lights were progressing up the avenue; not the soft, mystical light that was already a-glow in the lantern-ladened Birch trees, but the brash, crude glare of a car's front headlamps.

Holly dropped into a meadow not far from the house and laid down flat in the grass. It was unlikely that anyone in the vehicle would be wearing those infamous anti-shield sunglasses, but you could never take chances with Artemis and Butler around.

She heard the Bentley pull up by the main stairs and the car doors open.

'Oh!' gasped a woman's voice, Angeline Fowl's by the sound of it. 'Isn't the night air just wonderful, darlings? So clear, so fresh! Beautiful!'

The doors slammed closed again.

'It is a pleasant evening,' agreed another voice, one that served to tighten Holly's chest, 'but it is time to go inside now, Angeline. It is too cold to remain out here.'

'Oh don't be such a spoil sport, Timmy!' she laughed, slapping a limp wrist against his lapel. 'Once upon a time, you would have revelled at this night! You would have swept me up and carried me to the bushes!'

She swung her arms around, trying to demonstrate her husband's past prowess and ended up nearly stumbling to the ground.

'Woops!' she giggled, clinging to a nearby figure Holly couldn't quite make out. 'Sorry, Dear, I didn't quite see you there.'

'Mother, you're drunk,' murmured her supporter, 'you need to go to bed.' Her son adjusted his grip, trying to loop an arm around her jutting waist.

'I am not drunk!' exclaimed the woman, lurching away from him. 'I am merely _tipsy_, a completely different concept altogether! You don't think _your_ _mum_ can't handle a few cock...cock..._cocktails _do you?'

She burst out laughing.

'That is quite enough.'

Artemis Senior stepped forward, grabbing his wife's arm.

Angeline Fowl frowned stupidly. 'Don't do that, Timmy,' she chastised, in something nearing a slur. 'Your fingers are too tight.'

'You are to go to bed, immediately,' ordered her husband. 'Angeline, you are _indecent_.'

She snatched her arm away.

'Indecent am I?' she hissed, staggering backwards, her face suddenly wraith-like, 'because you would know all about that wouldn't you? _Indecency_?'

Artemis Senior towered over her.

'_Go. To. Bed._'

There was a still moment, in which all Holly could hear was Angeline's ragged breaths as husband and wife glared at each other.

Eventually, Angeline seemed to take warning from her husband's darkened eyes and she broke away, staggering unsteadily up the front steps.

Her husband turned back to face the car.

'Butler,' he barked. 'Take the Bentley round and park it in the West garage. I shall need it fully fuelled for tomorrow.'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Once you're done, lock everything up.'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Have a good evening.'

'Thank you, Sir.'

The mammoth Eurasian packed himself back into the driving seat and drove off.

Artemis Junior watched him go with an expression Holly couldn't quite see for shadow. Once his manservant was out of sight he turned to follow his mother into the house.

'Not so fast,' whispered his Father.

The teenager froze.

'You're not getting away that easily, Artemis.'

The son turned to him, his expression neutral. 'I wasn't attempting to.'

Artemis Senior climbed the steps until he was stood level with his heir apparent.

'I want a word with you before we both retire. I feel as though we have something to discuss.'

His son met his gaze calmly but Holly's helmet readings told her his heart was pumping at 132 beats per minute.

_He shouldn't be getting himself stressed like this_, she thought, her mouth forming a stiff frown, _the doctors all warned him it could increase his chances of relapse into the complex. _

Then-

_Why is his Father so furious with him? What has he done? _

'Get inside,' ordered the elder man sharply and his son instantly obeyed.

A large part of Holly wanted to follow them. Both men were burning with tension; so much so, that her magical empathy was actually converting the energy to heat her exposed hands. She knew that if No.1 had been at her side he would have been able to _see_ their strain.

_It would be purple_, she thought, _like bruises_.

She stood up.

She would head for the forest, and do her scans (**A.N.**** - and remain _Galadriel_...**). She had come here to investigate Artemis' past, not eaves-drop on his present. Besides, Foaly had warned her. There was no way she was getting in that house without setting off a thousand alarm bells.

With a few finger twitches she reactivated her wings, and soared off towards the east.

She remembered that the woods had been dark in her dreams, but that had been the mellow dark of a shadowed twilight. Now, at midnight, in the depths of an Irish winter, the trees melded together in blackness, their leaves becoming ink blots in the vast inkwell of a sky.

There was also no wind.

An outdoor silence was unnatural to Holly.

Thankfully, her helmet sorted out most of the vision problems, but the millimetre or so of visor not completely covered by the night-vision filter formed a ring of pitch around her face. This slight handicap to her peripheral vision pushed Holly's nerves to the edge.

'Get a grip,' she whispered, her mix-matched eyes stinging from the long minutes of not daring to blink. 'Just find the clearing and then you can get out of here.'

Deeper and deeper she flew, and the woods somehow managed to get darker. Her infrared sensors showed no signs of animal life; there were no badgers, no foxes, no rabbits, no warm-blooded beings of _any_ kind that should have made this abandoned copse their haven. Spiders were the only creatures of any number, spiders and their unfortunate prey.

She was finding her way by instinct, flying as if she knew every twist in the path.

_Of course you do_, chided a voice in the back of her mind, _because you've been here before._

Sickening hysteria suddenly reared up in her chest.

'Shut up!' she hissed. 'Just shut up! You're nearly ninety years old for Frond's sake! Stop frightening yourself-!'

She cut off.

The clearing lay out in front of her, silent, wide and impassive.

Like no man's land just after a cease fire, the dell retained that similar unnatural silence.

Her brain told her to move. She could feel the strap of her equipment bag cutting into her shoulder, she knew she should just slip it off and drop to the ground.

_Then what are you waiting for?_

An unexpected gust of wind burst through the trees and she was buffeted into the air above the clearing. Intense, primal fear ripped in her chest causing her eyes to bulge in their sockets. She clawed instinctively at the air, desperately trying to put as much distance between her and the glen as possible.

It was her desperation that shocked her back to reason.

'No!' she cried, stopping mid-twist. 'No! You came here to do a job and you're going to finish that job!'

She squared her shoulders and killed the engine, dropping the remaining six metres to the ground.

She landed cat-like in the dirt.

_Steady now_, she thought, the panic threatening to consume her again as her face hovered inches from the dust. _Slow breaths now._

She quickly unloaded her pack from her back and made sure to make as must noise as possible.

It took her only twenty seconds to erect the scanning column. The sensor itself was just a telescopic tube, about the circumference of a firework and the height of an average door, with a large spike at the bottom which Holly hesitated with briefly before driving into the earth. It had a fold-out screen half way down its length which the elf consulted closely, her brow furrowing with swallowed tension. After ten seconds of tapping, a bar at the top of the column flashed orange.

Holly's face twisted grimly.

The flash indicated that the column had completed its job, sending out an ion pulse into the surrounding hundred meter radius and thereby recording all details of the land. Holly could ask that pole about anything that was going on in that clearing right now, all the way down to a depth of fifteen hundred metres, and it would be able to tell her in a nanosecond.

Tapping a few buttons she called up the view that would show her any items that were buried beneath her.

The screen loaded instantly.

_Oh God, _she thought. _I don't want to know. I don't want to know what's there._

For a moment Holly stopped breathing.

But then her eyes slowly began to narrow.

'What...?' she whispered.

The monitor was showing grey.

Pure grey.

That meant nothing.

That meant that all she was standing on was earth; ordinary earth, untainted by the presence of _anything_, let alone a _corpse_.

She put her finger to the screen, pulling the view across. Thin, dark shapes finally came into focus, right on the edge of the glade.

Holly felt sweat beading on her lower back.

'Enhance and analyse,' she said clearly and the column beeped softly in recognition.

'Complete,' it chirruped, sounding far too cheery for the situation.

Holly leaned forward to read the data.

_Analysis - Soil contains unusually concentrated amounts of carbon, ammonia, lime and phosphorous. _

_Conclusion - Human remains circa 1570 AD – The remains of a peasants' graveyard_

The elf stared at the screen. _1570 AD_. Artemis Senior had buried a corpse here only thirteen years ago! And yet there was nothing here but a body that was over four hundred years old.

This wasn't what her dreams had told her.

Foaly's voice boomed in her mind's ears.

'_Your dreams aren't telling you anything, Holly, because they're just that; dreams!'_

She blinked stupidly.

Humiliation slowly burned its way through her veins, blazing from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her fingers and toes. She was sat there, crouched in the dirt at the back of Artemis's stately manor-house, having travelled ten hours to get there in order to prove a _dream_. She'd raved to Foaly, screamed at her Commander-

_Oh Gods, Trouble._

She closed her eyes, dread draining her face of all colour.

If he found out she'd been top side without clearance (not to mention with specialised equipment) he'd flay her alive. He might even dismiss her. He'd be well within his rights to.

Holly felt like a fool; a damn fool.

'Well you've done it now, haven't you,' she spat bitterly, 'so you'll just have to deal with the consequences.'

She reached towards the base of the column, preparing to wrench it back out of the earth. However, just as her fingers grew close to the soil a chill passed over her heart and a cold pressure brushed up her arm as if someone was stroking their hand up the length of her skin.

She recoiled backwards, staring at the ground.

_This place is bad_, she decided, forcing herself back to the column and sharply uprooting the spike. _Recent bodies or not, this place is _bad_._

She got the scanner packed up in record time, quickly fastening the last seal before slinging it onto her back again. As soon as her wings lifted her feet from the earth, she felt a weight lift from her chest. She flicked the throttle wide, shooting herself straight up into the air, every metre she put between herself and that Gods-forsaken plain; the lighter her heart began to feel.

Tara was in sight only thirty minutes later.

The noise of the E4 tourist traffic felt like a balm to her ears as she folded her wings back into her suit and unshielded. She shook herself roughly as she stepped into the departures lounge, earning a few wary glances from certain passengers but Holly was beyond caring.

_'The next shuttle to depart is the 3:05 Trans-Nymph service to _Haven-Central_ calling at: _Pemblebrook, Magma-upon-Crust, Oz, Poland, Gondor, Secret Location:67849, Tir-Na-Nog, Measteg_ and... _Haven-Central.'

'Good,' breathed Holly, 'a quick escape.'

She approached the ion turnstiles, ramming her already battered pass onto the sensor. It bleeped angrily, but didn't let her through. She tried it again, to the same effect.

A nearby pixie attendant looked up at the noise and strode over, trying to look taller than she was.

'Yes?' she squeaked.

Holly looked down. 'My ticket won't work,' she said dejectedly, holding up her defunct pass.

The pixie snatched the card from her, slapping it purposefully onto the scanner as if somehow that hadn't already been tried.

'Hmm,' she grumbled, looking closely at the ticket. 'It won't work.'

Holly scowled.

The pixie grumbled again, extending a thoroughly low tech omni-key from a plastic spring on her belt and pressing it to the side of ticket machine. It gave a much more promising bleep than the one Holly had received.

'Okay?' growled the elf, eager to just get aboard the shuttle. 'Can I get through now?'

The attendant's face had turned a strange shade of cream, she looked up at Holly as if she were a waiting land mine.

'Are you Captain Holly Short of the LEPrecon?'

The elf felt apprehension grow in the pit of her stomach.

'Who wants to know?' she asked warily.

The pixie stared at her for a few seconds more before pulling a tiny microphone-bud down to her mouth, and beginning to speak into it in hurried whispers.

'Hey!' barked Holly. 'What's going on? Who are you talking to?'

The attendant stopped speaking and looked up at her cautiously.

'I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come with me, Captain short.'

'Excuse me?'

'I said you're going to have to come with me.'

'Why?' demanded the elf. 'I've paid my fare; you've got my ticket in your hand.'

The pixie pursed her lips, speaking the next words loudly.

'I would ask you not to make a scene, Miss Short.' She announced, and the masses of commuting fairies began to look up from what they were doing, and stare in her direction. 'You'll only make this more painful than it needs to be.'

Holly glared.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw security gnomes with glowing buzz-batons sizing her up from their various posts.

_Just do as she says_, she told herself, _if_ _you draw any more attention to yourself the Commander will be on your tail quicker than Mulch on his way to a buffalo barbeque..._

'Alright,' growled Holly. 'Alright, I'll come. Just keep your voice down.'

The pixie smiled, satisfied and gestured for her to follow.

_So much for the 3:15 shuttle, _thought Holly angrily_, it'll be another half a day before I'm home. _

She was led back through the parting crowds and through a staff door marked PERSONNEL ONLY which branched into a corridor stinking of sim-coffee and old coins. Other terminal staff passed by her in the corridor, each giving her a quick glance before moving hurriedly on.

'You're in there,' said the attendant after a few minutes walk; stopping and holding open a grubby door to her left. 'Good luck.'

'Thanks,' grunted Holly, wondering why she'd be needing luck.

As soon as she saw who else was in the room she understood _exactly_ why. In fact, she knew why she was probably going to need the combined luck of everyone else under the Earth... and possibly over it too.

Because Commander Kelp was seated at the interview room's only table, triple acorns glinting on his chest and stormy purple irises fixed on her dumbstruck face.

_Oh fuck, _thought Holly numbly.

Her senior officer smirked as if he'd somehow read her mind.

'My, my, Holly,' he said softly. 'Aren't we in trouble?'

* * *

**Right. Next chap I'll be going over what happened 'Back at the Barons!', so the scene _before,_ up to and _following_ the exchange Holly saw outside the Manor, so please don't think I've just randomly skipped it all, I will make sure I've covered all the events of that night from Artemis POV too.**

**On the other hand, if you're confused about the dream sequence (I have a worrying suspicion that some people will be...), please tell me and I'll PM you if you'd like. That is the conclusion of that bit of Arty's life though. We shall be moving onto age ten (I think) next time :)**

**Big thank you to my esteemed pa who (bless him) actually got up from the couch in the middle of watching 'Coast' to sit against the wall of the living room just so I could judge what height Brian would need to be in conjunction with the finger panel... awww. My dad didn't even ask me why, he just accepted it. Is that a reflection on me do you think? Is he that used to my random whimsical requests? Gotta say though, he was a little bit more disturbed when I asked him how a flick knife worked...**

** Love you Dad :D**

PS. Is there a single person reading this fic who isn't thinking - 'Where the heck is this going?'/ 'What's going on?'/'IT HURTS MY MIND!'

?

*laughs at the apparent universal confusion, and then smirks at you evilly over steepled fingertips*


	6. Chapter 6 No Chance

Hi all!

Here's the next update, and yep it's ARTY TIME!

And this update is coming to you from a different country to usual because I'm back in good old England *waves flag*.

Uni is good so far.

I've learnt a few new phrases such as 'fuck-off-big' (as in "Oh my God, who brought the fuck-off-big Ikea knife?") and' tactical chunder' (as in "Ergh, I'm so wasted. I know I'm going to chuck later so I might as well do a tactical chunder now and save myself the trouble. Also, this way, I have more stomach room for even more drinking." In this way, a T.C. is much like what went on in a Roman "Vomitorium", but with a T.C. it leaves more room for triple vodka and lemonade instead of roast dormice.) These are charming sayings which I have sadly had to leave out from this chapter due to the fact that Artemis Fowl would implode upon utterance... Awww...

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**_REVIEWER FEEDBACK!_**

Readergirl99 - Spoil sport.

HallelujahTheCreator - Because I know everything.

Khirst - Thank you :) And it's good that you're following, lol. Um, NO, Artemis isn't seeing what Holly's eye is seeing. The eye theory was just Holly having a guess at why the dreams are coming to her. Artemis doesn't have a clue that Holly is having the dreams.

Ru-Doragon - Here's the update :) Hope you're not too peed with me for posting it, lol. If it's any consolation this fic has been mapped out from start to finish and it's gonna be finished. Definitely. And the ending, if I write it right... oh my God. I can't wait for people's reactions.

Kida Ookami - Hey, thanks :) I've tried to put as much thought in to the plot as I can. I like to write things with twists and levels :) Congrats on your AS's by the way, I hope you got what you needed/wanted :)

Bibliolympian - 'Much better'? Good! And s'okay about the yelling lol, it amused me. Keep yelling. Let it out! YEAH!

silverpheonix - you got chills when reading my stuff...? That gives me chills! Seriously, that's so amazing to know. Effect achieved! And you like Annie? Brill. I've tried to make her as down to earth and real as possible. Gritty. Not Minerva -_- although I actually don't mind her...

CieloCrimisi - Firstly 'awesomesauce' is such an amazing word. Secondly, yeah I know in would be nigh on impossible for there not to be another Annie Shinner in the last four hundred years. I should have narrowed the search down to just Europe or Ireland or something I realise that now. But, hey hoo, the purpose of that bit was just to show that Annie Shinner doesn't exist on any databases. Thirdly, you though Holly tip toed out of character? That sucked to hear, but thanks for the honest criticism. I know it seems a bit weird for Holly to rush off for the Manor and skip parole and stuff but I needed to get her in those woods and do that scene, and also it was to demonstrate the power of the dreams. They like proper take her over. You'll hopefully see the aftermath of that in her talk with Trouble. Until then, I'll make sure keep an eye on her character and try to stop her doing stuff that's too off the wall :)

mischievous101 - Yep. I think TAC was at least a little disappointing to everyone. I was pretty gutted. So much more could have been done with it. I found Turnball's bits just boring tbh. Oh well. The next one's the last one so it better be an improvement. Thanks for the review :)

KusajishiFuktaicho - Read this chapter slower, lol :) But I'm glad that you seemed to enjoy it enough to read through from the beginning. Thanks!

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Disclaimer - (Forgot this last time) *ahem* I AM NOT EOIN COLFER I AM A POOR POOR STUDENT LIVING ON RICE, MULLER RICE, AND RICE PUDDING *ahem* thank you. Now enjoy.

* * *

**_'I should not have named you Artemis... For now you will never be able to escape the consequences of my own sins.'_**

* * *

Chapter Six - No Chance

'Oof!'

'I _say_!'

'Slow down, _imbecile_!'

Artemis ignored them, continuing to barrel aside every drunken toff unwise enough to get in his way. A girl squealed as his elbow upended her glass and he barely glanced back as another feathered debutant was knocked carelessly into the nibbles stand.

'Who is that?'

'_It couldn't be!_'

'Watch out, _Fowl_!'

He felt the crowds smothering him on every side, thickening and building. His legs were burning, bile was rising in his throat, but he forced his way onwards.

'Oi!'

The Fowl heir was yanked backwards as a hand snapped out and grabbed his elbow.

'Who do you think you are?' yelled a ruddy faced boyfriend, his breath washing hotly over Artemis' face. 'Charging about the place like a rampant mare, have some decorum, man!'

'My apologies,' replied the teenager who twisted deftly out of his dinner jacket, leaving it hanging from the man's thick fist.

'Oh!' yelled the man, staring from the limp sleeve to the boy's retreating shirt back. 'I say, come back here! Come back you vagabond!'

Artemis ran determinedly onwards. His hair had fallen free from its well oiled back-comb and his un-tucked shirt stank of sweat, smoke and Clive Christian scent. He looked a far stretch from his usual impeccable self but felt none of the usual urge to stop and straighten himself.

_My appearance be damned, _hethought viciously, sprinting down a new corridor. _There will be more at stake than my meticulous reputation if I do not reach my Father in time._

'Artemis?'

The boy started.

'Artemis, what are you doing?'

Butler was striding towards him, a mixture of disbelief and alarm writ large across his face. He reached out for his charge with one massive palm but Artemis avoided the contact.

'Butler,' he snapped before the Eurasian could get a word out. 'I need to find my Father, _immediately_.'

The manservant gaped briefly before recovering.

'He's upstairs,' he answered, his dark eyes roving over Artemis' dishevelled apparel. 'I saw him go up the west staircase around forty minutes ago,'

The teen baulked and staggered clumsily backwards before breaking once again into his desperate sprint.

'Artemis, wait!' bellowed Butler. 'What's going on?'

Artemis didn't turn back, choosing instead to launch himself into the next teeming passageway. He was forced to a jog as the crowds thickened quickly into a jam, and he noticed the following chatter and exclamations becoming softer, more practiced, as older upper-crust necks craned to catch a glance of the infamous 'Fowl Child' looking-

'So _scandalously_ unkempt!'

He crossed the entrance hall with as much speed as he could manage to manoeuvre before squeezing through the doors to the main ballroom; entering a chamber so gilded it could have been built for the Romanovs. The whole space gleamed from marbled floor to frescoed ceiling as the golden theme that had begun in the antechamber spilled through into the walls, the lights, and even the glittering costumes of the masquerading serving staff. The Baron had dressed this room as a sort of '_cirque sophistiqué_' with tightrope performers swinging high above the dance floor and trained gymnasts twisting through the crowds, serving champagne glasses from gold-leaved trays.

Artemis continued his struggle through the masses.

_Where are you? Where are you Father?_

'There you are, darling!'

The familiar scent of Caron's _Poivre_ twitched up his nostrils and Artemis faltered in his step.

He twisted, and his eyes landed on Angeline Fowl drifting through the crowds towards him, party guests parting with shoal-like unity to allow her free passage. She was draped in champagne silk from bust to floor, with the _Fei Fei _blue diamond swinging low from her neck to rest glittering above her naval.

'Mother,' he acknowledged, already backing away. 'You are going to have to excuse me-'

'_Non, non, non!_' she protested, reaching for his arm and pulling him unwillingly back to her. 'Do not run away from me, Arty. You are _always_ running away from me.'

She looked at him and pouted her carefully painted lips, firmly securing her status as the most beautiful woman in the room. Artemis felt frustration brew in his frontal lobe creating an instant headache. He could feel the eyes of other guests prickle on his skin and their chatter suddenly felt deafening, menacing...

_I do not have time for this. _

He fought the urge to just wrench himself away from her.

'I'm sorry mother but you're going to have to excuse me,' he said, raising a firm hand to dispatch her fingers.

Angeline, however, was unrelenting. 'Nonsense, Arty!' she said firmly, hooking her thin fingers tightly back around his bicep. 'You must come and meet some friends of mine. They are all very anxious to be introduced to you.'

He turned his head to protest again when the smell of her breath washed over him; fruity but with an underlying bitterness. It was then that he noticed the crystal bulb of the empty wineglass poised unsteadily in her free hand.

_Mother has been drinking?_

This new piece of information took the Irish boy off guard and Angeline was quick to take advantage of his distraction. She steered him swiftly to the edge of the Ballroom, using only her smile to part the crowds in her path. This was a technique that her son would never master; a son who was just now beginning to regain his wits.

'Here he is!' she announced finally, herding him to a secluded area where around seven women were gathered on Recamier couches. Angeline pushed Artemis firmly into their midst.

Mrs. Fowl beamed. 'Ladies, I do present to you!' she proclaimed, making Artemis feel very much like a piece of highly prized livestock being presented at a butchers market, 'my son, Artemis Fowl the Second!'

Fourteen judging eyes roved from the teenager's newly scuffed loafers to the top of his crow's nest hair, slowly taking in every damning detail. A woman in the centre most seat, an aged widow who looked like she'd been pickled before being sewn into her dress, wrinkled her nose before speaking.

'_The Little Artemis_,' she sneered, clutching her hand bag with expensive acrylic claws. 'Your mother has told us _so _much about you...'

Artemis nodded stiffly then turned once again to his parent.

'Mother, I really must leave you.'

'No, you will stay. And what have I told you about calling me "Mother", hmm?'

'_Mother_ this is serious. I am looking for Father on quite urgent business.'

Angeline's smile tightened.

'He is engaged,' she said, peeking at the ladies over Artemis' shoulder who were all now whispering conspiratorially, 'with the Baron and a few other associates. He wouldn't want you _barging_ in on him.'

'You _know_?' choked her son, his eyes widening. 'You know about his meeting?'

Angeline rolled her expertly outlined eyes.

'Of _course_ I know, silly,' she laughed, brushing at some crease in his lapel. 'Your Father tells me about all of his business dealings! He's upstairs right now discussing a new environmental project. He's going to help save the world you know!'

Artemis looked at the happy pride in his Mother's face and felt his heart sink to his loafers.

_So your lies have already begun, Father?_

He hid his sudden distress by twisting his face back into its usual impassive haughtiness.

'I must find him,' he said firmly, his determination rising again. 'Whether he appreciates it or not, I _must_ find him.'

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

'Find who?'

Artemis whipped his head around as his mother's face lit up. It was as if someone had flicked a switch behind her eyes.

'There you are Timmy!' she exclaimed, brushing hurriedly past the teenager. 'I was beginning to think we would be apart _all_ night...'

Artemis Senior was dressed as the twin of his son, indeed if it weren't for the half a foot height difference and the larger patches of grey at each temple it would have been impossible tell them apart. The women on the couches were chattering now. They were slipping the Fowl patriarch coy glances over their glittering clutches, every one of them mentally salivating.

Angeline noticed her companion's glances and clutched her husband zealously.

'Calm yourself, Angeline,' laughed the man, as his wife clung to his suit jacket. 'Have you been drinking?'

The woman hiccupped guiltily, looking up at him with hooded eyes. 'A _little_.'

He sighed lightly. 'Then I guess it's time we were leaving.'

Artemis Senior turned his attentions finally to his son. 'Arty boy?' he asked, raising his eyebrows slightly. 'Are you ready? Or are you still looking for that someone?'

Artemis forced himself to meet the elder man's eye.

'No,' he said quietly. 'I have found them.'

The man nodded, either missing his eldest son's comment completely or else just choosing to ignore it.

'Where's your Butler got to, Arty?' he queried out loud, as the boy continued to stare at him. 'You'd think with all the bulk he's built over the years he'd be a bit easier to spot!'

Angeline chuckled along with her husband and Artemis clenched his fists.

Suddenly his manservant's gargantuan upper-torso became visible at the far end of the hall and Artemis Senior grinned triumphantly.

'There he is!' he declared. 'Quick, family! We must catch him while he is still within our sights.'

Angeline giggled excitedly at the thought of a chase and clung eagerly to her husband's hand.

'Artemis?' she called, holding back for her son. 'Are you coming?'

The teenager didn't answer for something had diverted his attention; possibly the only thing on Earth that could have at that moment.

_Oh God._

Angeline Fowl tugged at her son's sleeve. 'Artemis?' she questioned, peering into his static face. 'Artemis, are you ready?'

He let her take his wrist but kept his gaze fixatedly to the western staircase; looking to the man who was currently descending the last velveteen step.

He was tall, much taller than Artemis, with harshly cropped blonde hair and a weathered face that made him seem older than his twenty one years. He wasn't dressed to impress, not in any sense, in fact with his un-tucked shirt and a chin dark with stubble he seemed determined to achieve the opposite effect. He looked sloppy and sneered at anyone unwise enough to give him a second look; to the entire world, a common hooligan.

But Artemis Fowl knew better. He knew the man's eyes better.

_Look at me, _prayed the teenager, as his mother tugged fruitlessly at his sleeve. _Please, just look at me._

The taller man reached the bottom of the stairwell and casually scanned the crowd.

Artemis glared determinedly in his direction.

_Come on._

Then, suddenly, brown locked against hazel and blue.

And everything came back.

The specific tint to her irises as she'd laughed at something he'd just muttered, the precise way they'd glinted as she'd tickled him under their bed covers, the way they'd filled with tears that day to mingle with the rain-

_'Please! Please, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!'_

_'Get off me!' _

_'No! No!'_

'Artemis! Please! Your Father is getting impatient.'

The teenager blinked.

'Yes...' he said faintly, the chatter of the hall rushing back to his ears, 'of course...'

He gave Callum Shinner's eyes one last glance before pulling away, allowing his mother to trail him swiftly back through the crowds.

Once inside the Bentley only Angeline made any sound.

'Oh that was wonderful!' she gasped, allowing her head to flop dizzily back against the leather rest. 'I have not laughed that much in company for a _very_ long time! Madam Ricksmore was on top form! She told us this uproarious story about how a stray kumquat had slipped down the front of her gown during the Gilligan's Ruby wedding anniversary and how she was forced to keep it clenched between her thighs all evening for fear of letting it drop! Oh we were _rocking_!'

Artemis Senior tried for a smile but only managed a sort of oral twitch.

'I'm sure it was very funny, darling,' he said stiffly. 'But perhaps it was one of those stories for which you had to be actually _present_ to truly appreciate the humour.'

Angeline's smile dimmed. She straightened in her seat and coughed delicately.

'Yes,' she agreed. 'Yes, maybe it was... but I had a wonderful evening darling, just wonderful...'

Artemis Junior was sat opposite his parents, keeping his back flush with the leather interior. His only movement came with the motion of the vehicle; otherwise he sat completely still, keeping his dark eyes fixed to his father.

'I know you wanted me with you tonight,' murmured the Fowl Patriarch close to his wife's ear. 'I wanted to be with you also. However, neglecting your company was a sacrifice I made in order to do well, Angeline. Finally, I am making head way with my promise of creating a better world for our children. Can you forgive me for that..?'

Angeline turned back to her husband, her usual soft smile back in place albeit with a slightly drunken dopiness.

'I can indeed,' she whispered, leaning into his arm. 'What wife could not? I simply long to have you with me, Timmy, like it used to be. Like _we_ used to be...'

'I know. I know.'

Artemis coughed, causing both his parents to look up in surprise.

'Mother informed me that your meeting involved talk of investments,' he said, gazing steadily at his Father. 'May I inquire as to what assets were discussed?'

Artemis Senior looked suddenly wary. It was a subtle change; a slight tenseness in the brow, a trivial turn of the head, but to Artemis his features were screaming.

'You may,' replied his Father, adjusting his position so as better to face his son. 'I was presented with an opportunity to fund a new environmental project. One of the Baron's associates has come up with a new carbon filter that, in theory, will be capable of diffusing 97% of all future harmful emissions. Victor sought the help of investors to bring the project into a quicker reality.'

'And did you agree to assist him?' breathed Angeline, staring up at her husband.

Artemis Senior smiled in return. 'Of course, Darling,' he whispered, taking her hands in his and smothering them. 'I made a promise to you that I would save the world...'

In the seat opposite Artemis pressed his thin lips together and continued as if there had been no interruption.

'It sounds to be a worthy investment,' he said. 'Tell me, what were the terms?'

Angeline frowned slightly at her son, although her addled brain didn't quite understand why.

Artemis Senior seemed simply to survey him.

'I am expected to pledge eight million for the first six months of development. Then another ten million to bring the filter into mass production.'

'Euros or dollars?'

'Dollars.'

One of Artemis' eyebrows raised a single millimetre.

'That is quite a sizable commitment...'

There was a brief moment of silence as both father and son looked at each other.

'And your point, Artemis?' asked the elder softly. 'I shall assume that this interrogation has a purpose?'

'Oh, it is nothing really,' he replied, casually waving a pale hand as if to demonstrate how complete his detachment was. 'I was simply thinking that eighteen million is a very large chunk of money to be investing in something that will probably retain no personal profit; _especially_ in something as vague and as scientifically questionable as a "_new carbon filter". _I have never even heard of such a development_. _Has it even been patented? It has not been mentioned in any recent scientific journals, and by the way you describe it, Father, it sounds to be a truly groundbreaking discovery.'

Artemis paused, and spoke his next words quietly but with unmistakable clarity.

'Really,' he said, glaring into the eyes of his elder, 'for a project that sounds so woefully insecure, should you really be putting your _neck_ on the line?'

In the instant the word 'neck' was spoken everything inside the car changed. It was as if the vehicle had been plunged into Arctic waters. A new silence pressed on the three occupants of the Bentley and suddenly the premium air-conditioning felt to be ten degrees too low.

Artemis Senior was looking at his son as if he wished he had a knife to hand.

'Don't question your father,' chastised Angeline, who was either completely oblivious to the sudden tension or attempting to clumsily cover it. 'I am sure that this project is a _brilliant_ thing to invest in. My Timmy always knows what he is doing...'

The noise in the car changed and the unmistakable grating of tyres on gravel rattled inside the plush compartment.

'We are home,' noted Artemis Senior softly, his dark eyes still fixed unfalteringly on his son.

Angeline was the first to get out, not bothering to wait for Butler to open the door for her.

Oh!' she gasped, tottering a few feet from the car before sucking in a long breath. 'Isn't the night air just wonderful, darlings?' She flung her arms towards the stars and twirled tightly so her dress spun out from her legs. 'So clear, so fresh! Beautiful!'

Artemis Senior snapped his gaze away and followed her swiftly into the night. Artemis Junior stayed where he was, just staring at his Father's vacated head rest. After a few seconds he realised he wasn't breathing. He closed his eyes and forced himself to take a long and shaky drag of oxygen before vacating the back seat.

'It is a pleasant evening,' he heard his Father say as he cleared his head of the car's black panelling, 'but it is time to go inside now, Angeline. It is too cold to remain out here.'

His mother stopped her twirling.

'Oh don't be such a spoil sport, Timmy!' she laughed, giving him a single weak punch to the lapel. 'Once upon a time, you would have revelled at this night! You would have swept me up and carried me to the bushes!'

Artemis watched her heel catch in the hem of her dress and reached out instinctively. She landed clumsily in the crook of his left arm.

'Woops!' she giggled, clinging to his shoulders. 'Sorry, Dear, I didn't quite see you there.'

Artemis struggled to place her steadily back on her feet.

'Mother, you're drunk,' he murmured, 'you need to go to bed.'

_Where you will be safe._

Angeline was having none of this.

'I am not drunk!' she screeched, and Artemis could hold her no longer as she wrestled against his grip.

Artemis Senior stepped sharply forward, grabbing his wife's arm.

'That is quite enough.'

Artemis Junior felt a sudden anger at the contact.

Angeline Fowl frowned stupidly. 'Don't do that, Timmy,' she said. 'Your fingers are too tight.'

'You are to go to bed, immediately,' ordered her husband. 'Angeline, you are _indecent_.'

She snatched her arm away.

'Indecent am I?' she hissed, staggering backwards, her face suddenly wraith-like, 'because you would know all about that wouldn't you? _Indecency_?'

Artemis Senior towered over her.

'_Go. To. Bed._'

There was a silent moment in which Angeline's chest heaved with every ragged breath and her fingers clutched to the silk of her gown. Then his mother grimaced, her face suddenly frightfully ugly and she stalked unwillingly away from her husband and watching son; the fight was over before it had barely even begun.

Artemis Senior turned back to face the car.

'Butler,' he barked. 'Take the Bentley round and park it in the West garage. I shall need it fully fuelled for tomorrow.'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Once you're done, lock everything up.'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Have a good evening.'

'Thank you, Sir.'

_No,_ thought Artemis reflexly. _No, don't._

But he did. The car pulled away with its usual smoothness and Artemis was left all alone with Father. He turned towards the entrance steps, suddenly wanting nothing more than to follow his mother when-

'Not so fast,' whispered a voice.

Artemis froze.

'You're not getting away that easily.'

The teenager closed his eyes; reining his expression in before turning back to face his father.

'I wasn't attempting to.'

Artemis Senior climbed the front steps until he stood level with his heir apparent.

'I want a word with you before we both retire. I feel as though we have something to discuss.'

The teenager forced his eyes to meet his Father's. He could feel his heart battering at his insides causing his head to begin to drift.

_Calm down, boy, _he told himself. _Argon warned you that too much stress could trigger relapse of the complex._

'Get inside,' ordered the elder man sharply.

The boy instantly obeyed.

Artemis Senior closed the giant oak doors behind them with a soft echoing _boom_ and stood silently with his back to the antechamber. His son remained a little way off, watching him in the settling quiet. The hall around them was dark, almost wholly so. If it wasn't for the stained glass windows striking moonlit-bruises across the stonework Artemis wouldn't have been able to see at all.

The Fowl Patriarch sighed softly.

'Father I-'

'You will speak when you are spoken to.'

The younger man's frown deepened and he clenched soft palms.

Artemis Senior turned from his vigil at the door to cross swiftly to the main staircase. His son followed without comment, allowing himself to be led step after step up the velveteen stairways and along each of the shadowed passages, until only a few minutes later they arrived at a doorway on the second floor. His Father opened the panelled door and nodded for Artemis to enter, which he did, after a few seconds hesitation, warily registering the mahogany behemoth that dominated the northwest corner of the room; a large, freestanding wardrobe that he himself had once occupied a long time ago.

The door clicked shut behind him and Artemis Senior stood over the exit. He looked silently at his son for a few moments, most of his face in shadow before gesturing towards a single crooked dining chair sat in the centre of the room. It was one of the many rejected pieces of furniture that had ended up in this office, forlorn and in need of polishing, unwanted by the house's mistress. It was also the chair on which Peter Francis had been so violently executed one decade ago.

'Sit,' ordered Artemis Senior.

Artemis looked to the lone chair and then back to his Father.

'I... I'd prefer to stand-'

'_Sit_.'

Artemis took a breath... and sat.

Satisfied, his father moved away from the door, walking to sit behind the claw-footed desk at the far side of the room. Once seated, his eyes flicked once again to his son.

'Who are your sources?' he asked.

'My sources?'

'Do not make me repeat myself, Artemis.'

'I have none. Not anymore.'

'You are lying.'

Artemis swallowed.

'I am not lying.'

'Then how have you come to know of 'The Neck'? Or are you now claiming clairvoyance in addition to genius?'

Artemis swore he could still see the man-shaped blood stain outlined in the rug.

'Well?'

'I met a few old friends at the party.'

'Which old friends?'

'I...Toulouse Brannagh and Volga Boujinsky.'

His Father snorted softly.

'Of course. Their parents both attended the meeting.'

Artemis' brow creased, and he glared angrily at his parent.

'What were _you_ doing tonight?' he blurted. 'What were you doing attending a meeting with a recruiter? I thought you said that life was over for us. You promised us, you promised Mother!'

Artemis Senior looked up sharply. 'And I still hold to that promise.'

'Then why-'

'_Wake up, boy!_' he snapped, banging both palms atop the table. 'What else could I have done? I receive a letter, written by a seemingly dangerous new comer, inviting me to meet with him. If I attend, I have shown myself, I have shown that I _respect_ him. I then present myself to him as a useless associate, as a business man well past his prime, he thus loses interest and I leave uninvolved and ultimately unscathed...

'But! If I fail to attend I have therefore _actively refused him._ He knows for a fact that I have received his invitation but that I have judged it unimportant; unworthy of my attentions. Now, no self respecting criminal is going to let that pass, especially one who is relatively new on the scene; someone who is eager to make the right _impressions. _So, he accordingly takes the decision to pay me a little personal visit. He decides that if I will not meet with him he shall have to come to _me_ and teach me a very hard lesson as to why I should show his requests a little more respect in future...'

Artemis Senior sat back slowly into the worn padding of his chair.

'By refusing the simple request of a meeting I have brought one of the worlds supposed most dangerous new Under Lords into my own home; into the very house where my children sleep...'

He looked grimly at his son, folding his hands neatly in his lap.

'Now do you understand,' he implored softly, 'why my attendance was the only option available to me?'

Artemis was still unsettled. He stared hard at a knot in the wood of his Father's desk, his expression stormy. Something wasn't sitting right with him; within him. It was all too close to his former home.

'But you lied to Mother,' he murmured, speaking to his favoured spot. 'You told her you were at an environmental meeting.'

Artemis Senior snarled impatiently, flicking his head like a race horse trapped in the stalls. 'What else could I have said?' he spat. 'Your mother she... she expects a lot from me. She believes we are completely free of the _old business_. This is of course, absurd_._ Our family has spent the best part of _eight centuries_ building the Fowl name to be one associated with felony and corruption. It is not something easily renounced in six years...'

There was a brief pause in which the dark truth of that statement sank into Artemis' young mind, that and the overwhelming urge to close his eyes and slump to the fetid floor; just give up there and then, and sleep quietly and neatly, and never have to do again.

But beneath him, the dining chair squeaked and he was a Fowl once again.

'But, Father,' he asked, swallowing himself back. 'What of this "Neck"? What does he want with us?'

Artemis Senior's face froze.

'That is nothing to do with you,' he whispered.

'But-'

'Artemis, _no_!' shouted the elder man, again suddenly full of anger. '_No_! We are trying to live as a legitimate family now, and you, for your part, are to stay firmly out of the business. I asked this of you many years ago.'

The teenager was incredulous. He looked up at his father with his thin mouth agape.

'You cannot tell me that we will never be free of it and in the same breath condemn my involvement!'

'I am your Father, Artemis!' thundered the elder man, 'I am your Father and you will do as I say!'

The teenager stood from his chair.

'But don't you see that I could help you?' he demanded, anger and frustration screaming in his every syllable. 'I have skills, you cannot deny that. Not to utilise them now would be borderline _stupidity_.'

Artemis Senior roared to his feet.

'_How dare you speak to me like that?_'

Artemis blinked as his Father stood over him, his face a dark puce. For a moment the teenager's earlier dread sank back into his chest and he stood frozen, staring into the burning eyes that he had once both possessed. There was silence but for both their ragged breaths.

'Sit down,' spat Artemis Senior eventually, with a clear note of disgust. 'You are fifteen years old! A _child_. And while you live under my roof you would do better to remember your place. I will not be spoken to as if I am one of your imbecilic school friends.'

He sat slowly back into his chair, still shaking his head. Artemis watched him, pale cheeks flushing.

'I only wish to help you, Father,' he said, for once unable to meet his elder's gaze. He looked at his hands instead. 'I am completely serious in my offer of assistance...I... I want to... I want to_ believe_ that... that there exists some sort of... of...'

He set his jaw stiffly and looked up.

'Chance.'

Artemis Fowl the first looked back at his son. He looked at him as if he had never done so before; scrutinising every inch of shadow, skin and expression available for study. He looked at him as if looking through him.

'I should not have named you Artemis,' he said suddenly, in a voice that measured barely above a breath. 'For now you will never be able to escape the consequences of my own sins.'

There was another silence. Artemis stared at his Father, for once every inch the fifteen year old boy.

'You should get to bed,' continued Artemis Senior brusquely as if his last statement had never been uttered. 'It is getting late, and you have school in the morning.' He looked sternly at his eldest boy. 'Goodnight, Son.'

Artemis stood numbly.

'Goodnight... Father.'

But the teenager had just reached the door and placed his hand on the knob when Artemis Senior spoke again.

'Just one more thing, Artemis.'

The Irish boy turned his neck to face him, but could only see his father's mouth through the shadows. 'Yes?'

'If I ever discover that you have delved into any _business_ again,' whispered the Fowl Patriarch. 'I will have you shipped out of this house and placed in a continental boarding school before your brain has even a chance to _think_ the word "plan". Do you understand me?'

Artemis felt a cold shiver build in his flesh. 'Yes, Sir.'

'Good.'

The teenager rotated the brass door handle that had grown tepid beneath his palm and exited the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He proceeded to walk directly to his bedroom, his mouth set in a thin line, his eyes glazed and unfocused. His distraction was so complete that he failed to notice the hulking figure waiting outside his bedroom door.

'Artemis?'

The teenager started as the outline emerged from the shadows, his troubled eyes widening in shock.

'Artemis,' repeated the figure, their voice grating. 'Where have you been?'

Domovoi Butler stood from the wall, his usually stony face creased with concern. He was still wearing his tuxedo from earlier, the one that had had to be tailored specially in Tuscany in order to accommodate the Eurasian's massive girth. Artemis remembered the fitting. The tailor had had to tie two tapes together in order to measure his friend's bulging chest.

'I have been speaking with my Father,' said the teenager, after a few moments hesitant quiet. 'I am now very tired, so if you would excuse me...'

Artemis reached for his door handle, only to have the Eurasian's spade like hand appear on the wood just above.

'What happened tonight?' hissed Butler, leaning over the boy. 'I leave you alone at the entrance to that party and an hour later you're sprinting down the hallways as if you're in the middle of some desperate crisis!'

Artemis looked determinedly at the door handle.

'There was no crisis,' he said levelly. 'It was a misunderstanding on my part, that was all.'

'What misunderstanding?'

Artemis made an irritated noise, and pushed the door to his room open.

'It is late,' he said, with a tone of finality. 'Goodnight Butler.'

'Artemis-'

'_Goodnight_, Butler.'

He pushed the door shut and rested with his back against it. Above him, the cherubic fresco glowed dimly through the dark, and he could just make out their wingtips by the moonlight. For a few moments he remained there, his gaze fixed on the heavenly tableau.

_'I am your Father, Artemis! I am your Father and you will do as I say!'_

_'Our family has spent the best part of eight centuries building the Fowl name to be one associated with felony and corruption. It is not something easily renounced in six years...'_

_'I should not have named you Artemis. For now you will never be able to escape the consequences of my own sins.'_

He closed his eyes and reached a hand into his pocket, dialling a number and holding his phone up to his ear. After two rounds of the dial tone a familiar voice answered.

'Brannagh speaking.'

'Tuley, this is Artemis Fowl.'

'Art! Where did you get to? Volga and I were most concerned at your leaving...'

'I am home now, Tuley, and safe. I am, however, also in need of a favour.'

'A favour?' purred the young heir, and Artemis could almost hear his grin. 'What kind of a favour...?'

* * *

**Heh, heh. Yep. Another cliffy for you. Next week, we're back to Holly, and we'll read just how much Artemis junior (as in the nine year old) knew about "*** **** ****" (can you guess what that is?).**

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**I'm not saying that I won't post stuff... eventually... but if you want to learn anything this side of Christmas you better review... **

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**Because I have major freshers flu, and I still got out a chapter. yeah. So review.**

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	7. Chapter 7 Drowning

Hi!

So... this side of Christmas... heh... yeah. Sorry about that.

SORRY TO REPOST BUT A LOT OF THE WORDS WERE MUSHED TOGETHER AFTER I DIDN'T GIVE IT A PROPER LOOK THROUGH AND IT WAS BUGGING ME!

**REVIEWER FEEDBACK**

_Ktw18_ - Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it, and yeah this fic is planned to the gills! (apologies for the Christmas deadline... *blushes*)

_ilikechocolatemilk_ - (As do I, but prefer strawberry) Holly/Annie interaction coming up! Yep, this chapter has TWO dream sequences :D

_Hello - I am me_ - (Such a strange pen name...) still confused? Good. Glad I'm still holding your attention.

_Lli _- I HATE Artemis Senior. Awful man. You think he's a jackass now? Heh. Heh heh heh.

_mischievous101_ - Okay, maybe I shouldn't have written the "human" review prompt, it is extremely annoying... I think it's amazing that you're considering this as your seventh book :) That's so nice. Also, you have a fish bone wedged in your throat? Wth? Is that a saying or have got an actual fish bone wedged in your throat? (or did have, hopefully it's out by now).

_the one who breathes nitrogen_ - You gave me the weirdest review I have ever had. Thank you. Truly, it was gift. So to the point and actually made the "human" review prompt kind of worth while...

_Beckett Simpleton_ - Ah, you'll get to uni quick enough. It's scary how quick it comes around. And yes, my Dad is amazing. And I miss him so much now that I'm living away. Oh the sacrifices one makes for a good education!

_Kusajishifuktaicho_ - Let's see if your theories are right (whatever they may be?)

_silverphoenix _- You're starting to loath Artemis Sr? Good! Welcome to the club my friend - Lli and I have cookies :)

_BrazeRancor_ - You're review really made me smile. Such a nice thing to get. I'm really chuffed you're getting into it! Um, no. Artemis will not be getting flashbacks of Holly's past. Its a one way thing.

_killerpoison_ - I know. Updates are always late from me. But pokey reviews do kinda help... Thanks for giving me that spike in the butt, lol.

_Disclaimer - Ich heisse nicht Eoin Colfer (did I get that right? Any Germans in the house?)_

* * *

**_'No, Art. There's a big difference between killing someone, practically killing someone, and not killing someone..._**

**_ Which is it?'_**

**_

* * *

_**

_She was led back through the parting crowds and through a staff door marked PERSONNEL ONLY that led into a corridor stinking of sim-coffee and old coins. Other terminal staff passed by her in the corridor, each giving her a quick glance before moving hurriedly on._

'_You're in there,' said the attendant after a few minutes, stopped and held open a grubby door to her left. 'Good luck.'_

'_Thanks,' grunted Holly, wondering why she'd be needing luck._

_But she understood exactly why as soon as she saw who was in the room. In fact, she was probably going to need the combined luck of everyone else under the Earth... and possibly over it too._

_Because Commander Kelp was seated at the interview room's only table, triple acorns glinting on his chest and stormy purple irises fixed on her dumbstruck face._

Oh fuck_, thought Holly numbly._

Chapter Seven - Drowning

'Trouble, I can explain-'

'Oh no,' he said, cutting across her. 'You don't need to. Foaly's already told me the _whole_ sorry story.'

Holly winced.

'Trouble,' she said, forcing herself to look at him. 'You don't understand. It was... I... just a complete moment of madness. I don't know what came over me...'

She trailed off, knowing she sounded pathetic. But the truth was the truth, and sitting there stricken in the cold shadow of hindsight she felt like madness really had played a key part in her life these past two days.

Had she really told Foaly she was having psychic dreams? Had she really gone AWOL to Fowl manor in order to try and prove them?

_Have I lost my mind?_

The Commander walked away to the far side of the room and put his palms flat against the concrete of the cell wall. He dropped his head wearily between his biceps.

'Do you have any idea how worried I was?'

Holly broke out from her thoughts, looking up in surprise.

'Worried?'

He reared back from his position and slammed his hands back to table.

'Yes, _worried_! You took off without clearance to _Fowl Manor_, the home of the most dangerous mudman in the entire world and you expected me to just sit back and shrug about it? I phoned you this morning and you thought I was _him_! You were _expecting_ him!'

Holly felt her face redden.

'Trouble-'

The commander ignored her and began pacing the room.

'For all I knew, Fowl could have been planning for months to lure you there! What if he'd been talking to you, _grooming_ you? What if he'd sweet-talked you into meeting him, into _trusting_ him? Next thing I know, I've got another _kidnapping_ on my hands all because one of my _own fucking officers _doesn't know a threat when she meets one_._'

Holly was stunned.

'What are you _talking_ about?' she gasped. 'I thought you said Foaly had explained this to you?

'Oh he has! He told me all about it. About how you've been coming to his office, telling him you've been _dreaming _about the mud boy, about how finally you just _had_ to go and see him...'

The she-elf's mouth dropped open.

_So that's what Foaly's told him. That I had to go topside to see Artemis because..._

'Now I know you two are close,' continued Trouble, obviously struggling to keep his voice steady. 'I know you've _been through a lot_ and all that _shit_ but today you directly violated-'

Holly's chair moved back with a sound like knives scraping ceramic.

'You don't understand,' she said. 'You really don't understand.'

Trouble's eyes flashed.

'Oh really? And just what is it that I _don't understand_, Captain?'

Holly stared at him hard. Her knuckles were white above the tabletop.

_Should I tell him? Should I tell Trouble Kelp, my commanding officer, that I was acting on the authority of dreams?_

She swallowed.

'I...I...'

'_Yes_?'

_Unless... unless I accept that Foaly's already given him the best explanation...? That I went to Fowl Manor because I cared about Artemis. Is that really so far from the truth...?_

A vein was pulsing in Trouble's left temple.

'_Well_, Captain?'

Holly dropped her gaze.

'I just... had... to see him.'

Trouble snorted derisively. 'Of _course_ you did. And that, Captain, is why as of right now you are released from active duty.'

Her head snapped up.

'What?'

The Commander glared at her.

'What did you expect, Holly? That you could pull a stunt like this one and just skip merrily back into Police Plaza as if nothing had happened?' He gave a short, hollow laugh. 'I'm afraid it doesn't quite work that way...'

Holly stared at him as if he'd just slapped her across the face.

'But...but Trouble...'

The male elf's scowl deepened.

'Don't _but Trouble_ me,' he grunted. 'You've brought this on yourself. You and _Fowl_.'

He moved away, rubbing a hand roughly over his crew cut. Holly just sat there, stunned.

_What have I done?_

'You're to hand in your badge and your gun,' continued the Commander with his back to her, 'and remain within your place of dwelling until you are summoned to court. That means no trips topside, no visits to plaza. Just you, in your apartment, until I tell you that you can move. Do I make myself clear?'

'Yes, Sir,' said Holly quietly.

'Good.'

He turned to her, his face twitching in anger.

'Now get out of my sight.'

Holly stood with her eyes averted. Trouble watched her, waiting for her to say something more, but she turned her face away, detached herself from her chair and left the room without making a sound.

Trouble turned back just as the door was shutting.

'_D'arvit!'_ he swore, kicking out at his abandoned chair and sending it skittering violently to the other side of the cell.

It took Holly a further sixteen hours to get back to her apartment. Official Recon officers had confiscated her equipment and LEP passes the instant she'd stepped from the room, giving her a thorough search and scan down before marching her out into the terminal. They'd issued her official court summons in the public courtesy lounge, inviting an audience of half the terminal staff and customers.

'Did you have to do it in front of everyone?' she'd hissed, cheeks burning. 'Why couldn't you have waited until we were somewhere more private?'

'You gave the rules no consideration, Captain,' replied the official sprite smartly, sliding his documents back into his briefcase and closing it with a _snap_. 'Why should we have granted you any?'

Holly had clenched her fists and scowled.

'_You have...forty seven... at...13...34... pm.'_

Foaly's voice bleated from the tinny machine.

'Holly! Holly! Trouble's on the rampage; he's somehow found out you've gone topside. Look, just get home as soon as possible and... and hopefully we can figure something out...'

'_Second message received at...13...57...pm.'_

'Oh, shit. Holly, Trouble's just been in the ops booth demanding to know where you've gone. I... I had to tell him. I told him you're in Fowl Manor but... but I didn't tell him exactly _why_. He's just jumped to his own conclusions and now he thinks Artemis has _lured_ you there! He's heading up to the surface _right now_ to fetch you! Please, if you get this, _phone home_!'

'_Third message received at...14...03...pm.'_

'Holly, I'm so sorry! I know I shouldn't have told Trouble anything! I... I just... _Please call._'

'_Forth message received at...14...07...pm.'_

'You know what, I'm _not_ sorry! You've been acting _crazy_ these last few days, and I was _right_ to tell Trouble where you've gone! Frond, _you're looking for bodies in the Fowl woods!_ What the _d'arvit_, Holly? Can't you see there's something just a _teensy bit _wrong with that picture? '

'_Fifth message received at...14...12...pm.'_

'I take it back. I'm sorry. You're not crazy. Just please come home. _Please._ We can talk this over. We can get to the bottom of everything. Please, just phone home...'

'_Sixth message received at-_'

Holly switched off the machine and dropped her keys onto the table beside it.

She took off her boots and LEP over-jacket and wandered to the kitchen. In the fridge there was nothing but a few freeze-packed rations hoarded from a field simulation three months ago. She closed the fridge door again and walked to the living room where her futon was still laid out from that morning. She eyed it grudgingly.

_I should sleep right now...but if I do will I dream?_

She trudged over and flopped down fully clothed into the mess of sheets and pillows.

After the day she'd just had, it was a risk she was just going to have to take...

* * *

Annie smiled at her. She was dressed in turquoise this time.

'Don't worry, Holly,' she whispered, reaching down to take the elf's shaking hand. 'Soon the clearing will have plenty of bodies for you to find.'

Holly nodded, comforted by her touch.

'Will there be many?' she asked.

Annie squeezed her palm. 'Enough for everyone.'

The elf felt the hand in hers begin to fade and soon the girl had disappeared altogether.

Shadow was the next thing to register. Moving shadow...

No, not shadow. It was light - rippling light.

The underwater lamps of the Fowl swimming pool reflected shifting waves onto a glass ceiling. Holly approached slowly, stopping on the edge of the terracotta tiling that ringed the outside of the pool. She looked tentatively down into the golden water and saw a white figure lying face up beneath the surface; its eyes were closed, limbs drifting limply from its torso.

'_No!_'

Holly whipped around. Annie Shinner was sprinting towards her. The girl drew level with the elf and without hesitation leapt feet first into the water. Below her, the figure's eyes snapped open.

'_Ann_!' it gasped, but all that came out was a stream of stunned bubbles.

The girl grabbed at Artemis' arm, yanking at him desperately as she clawed at the surface with her free hand. The boy saw her struggles and wrenched himself free from her grip. Annie gasped, water rushing down her throat, her splayed fingers clutching at emptiness. Artemis beat back her limbs, wrapped his arms tightly under hers, and kicked off from the bottom of the pool.

They broke the surface together, Annie still thrashing, Artemis still clinging to her.

'Ann-!'

The world deadened as they were submerged once again. With more than a little effort, Artemis kicked them both back to the air and pushed Annie towards the side of the pool. She scrabbled at the tiling, still gasping and choking. The boy lifted her legs and she rolled upwards, slopping onto the darkened terracotta. He pulled himself after her.

'Annie! Annie, are you _alright_?'

The girl's chest was rising and falling like a well-pumped bellows. Her face was white, too white.

'_Annie_?'

She twisted up onto her hands and wretched. Artemis bent over her, dragging back her sodden hair. After a few seconds heavy breathing, Annie coughed and dragged a shaking hand across her mouth.

'M'alright.'

Artemis snorted and sat back on the tiles.

'What did you think you were doing,' he demanded, after a moment more of recovery, 'jumping into a _swimming pool_?'

She scowled at him, her eyes bloodshot. 'I thought you were drowning!'

'_You can't swim!_'

'And again, _I thought you were drowning_! Actually no, I thought you'd already _drowned_.'

They looked at each other, both their breathing still ragged.

'Well of course I wasn't drowning,' sneered Artemis, getting up and snatching a towel from a nearby sun lounger. 'Butler ensured long ago that I became a competent swimmer.'

Annie bucked her teeth and waggled her head from side to side.

'_Butler ensured long ago that I became a competent swimmer,_' she mimicked, patting down the front of her oversized and dripping duffel coat. She reached a pale hand inside and retrieved a pack of destroyed cigarettes from an inner pocket. 'Aw, _feck_. Look at that! They was my last lot too! Callum's gonna kill me. I said I would share them...'

Artemis rolled his eyes and tossed her a spare towel.

'You barely escape filling your lungs with water but persevere in filling them with tar?'

'Yeah, yeah. I'm not in the mood for a lecture, thanks all the same.'

The boy pressed on regardless. 'Why did you even come here tonight? By sneaking into the house without informing me first you triple the chances of Butler discovering you.'

Annie shrugged out of her jacket.

'You're such a worry wart. You showed me the way through the cameras remember? And anyway, it's a _house_, not the feckin _treasury_. We've both gotten through tighter places than this...'

She dropped the coat to the floor and began to peel her cardigan back from her shoulder. Artemis frowned deeply. All along Annie's newly revealed arm were bruises, some faded and brown like old coffee-rings, but others large and angry against her pale flesh.

'Annie...'

She glanced up and saw what he was staring at.

'What?' she snapped, pulling her cardigan back over her.

He just looked at her. She snorted, dipping to grab her towel from the floor.

'Callum and I'ave bin fighting is all,' she snapped. 'And anyway! What were you doing floating in a swimming pool, eh? Isn't that swimming pool one-oh-one? "Don't float about like you're dead or the lifeguard will _think _you're dead and jump in to save you, wasting everyone's time and patience"?'

Artemis sighed. 'So you're a lifeguard now? You must surely be the world's worst.'

'I wouldn't have had to jump if you hadn't been playing dead.'

'You thought I was dead, you _knew_ you couldn't swim, and yet you still jumped. Where's the logic in that?'

She looked at him, her thin face wrapped in a shroud of yellowing towelling.

'Feel flattered.'

She sat down heavily on the closest sun-seat and glared at the water in silence.

Artemis looked at her from the other chair, watching the pool-light ripple over her pallor. His eyes drifted again to the cloth that now hid her injuries.

'So,' said Annie, distracting him, 'you still haven't answered my question. What were you floating about in the pool for?'

Artemis' frown deepened.

'I was... thinking.'

'Couldn't you do that on dry land?'

'No. This is the only room in which I can loop the surveillance feed for prolonged periods without attracting attention. No one has used it for years.'

Annie sniffed, wiping a damp hand across her nose before tucking it back into the folds of her towel.

'Must have been some heavy thinking, eh?'

The moon was shining through the glass above them full and round.

'It's my Father.'

'Who's he killed this time?'

'No one.'

'Really? Wow. That is something to think about.'

'He's gone to Russia.'

'Oh yeah. On that boat trip right? Nice little holiday for you.'

He closed his eyes tight and dropped his head into his hands. Annie blinked.

'Artemis?' she asked, her towel falling back from her head. 'Artemis what's wrong?'

He didn't answer, just sat there, water trailing from his dripping fringe and down his arms.

'Artemis?' she repeated, getting up and walking towards him. 'Artemis, what?'

He sat up, sniffing loudly.

'I've killed him.'

The entire world seemed to hold its breath.

'Beg pardon?' whispered Annie, her heart hammering against her rib cage.

Artemis adjusted his towel around his shoulders. 'My father is going to die.'

'_Going_ to? So you've _not_ killed him?'

'Practically.'

Annie closed her eyes. 'No, Art. There's a big difference between _killing _someone, _practically _killing someone, and _not_ killing someone. Which is it?'

'He departed for Murmansk nine days ago. In the next day or two he will pass into the Bay of Kola... where the Russian Mafia will be waiting with several primed missiles ready to blow his ship out of the water.'

'And you haven't told him?' gasped Annie, eyes wide. 'But how long have you known?'

A slow, dreadful smile crept onto the ten-year old's face. 'Two months.'

Annie turned away from him, her hands clasped over her mouth. She took a few steps towards the pool, then wheeled back.

'And he really doesn't know?'

'No. I've made sure of it. It has been my primary focus these last few weeks to keep the information from him. I was incredibly lucky to have intercepted it in the first place.'

She shook her head in awe. '_God_. If he'd found out... And if he'd found out you knew and hadn't _told_ him.'

'He'd have killed me,' nodded Artemis. 'He still could. I will not be safe until the Fowl Star is at the bottom of the sea.'

They looked at each other, nervously, excitedly, like two children who had just placed a drawing pin on the chair of a much-feared teacher. Annie swallowed.

'And you're sure?' she asked him, her expression sobering. 'And you're sure about this?'

Artemis' smile vanished. 'Why wouldn't I be?'

'Because he's your dad.'

The little boy's eyes flashed. 'No. He's the man who buries bodies in the garden and tells my mother he's inspecting the lawns.'

'Artemis, be serious.'

'I have never been more serious in my life.'

The room had taken on a different atmosphere. Annie clutched her towel close to her.

'But what about the other people aboard? Have you thought about them? How many crew on a boat that size?'

'Forty one, including my father.'

'Forty one? So what about the other forty?'

Artemis spoke to the water. 'Their deaths are regrettable... but necessary.'

She stared at him incredulously. He caught the look.

'There are approximately two hundred and sixty eight bodies in that clearing!' he exploded. 'If I have to sacrifice forty people now in order to save another two hundred from meeting the same fate then so be it!'

'Great!' shouted Annie, her face red. 'So you're allowing the deaths of _these_ people in order to _potentially_ save the lives of many more. Wow, _sound_ ethics there.'

He glared at her venomously. 'Why are you questioning me like this? You know he deserves to die. Why are you trying to stop me?'

'I'm not. I'm just making sure you're sure. You're the one who's going to have to walk around for the next however many years knowing you let your father get _murdered_.'

The boy flinched. _Murdered, murdered, murdered._The word echoed from the glass ceiling, ricocheting off the walls, the water, before eventually fading to nothing.

'I am sure,' he whispered. 'I must be.' He looked up at Annie. 'You don't hear the way he talks to my mother. He always placates her, tells her that _this_ time will be the last, _this _time will be the last. I heard him, her _Pirate Prince,_he told her that this deal in Murmansk would end it all, that after it is done he will have the funds to finally become legitimate and remain that way. He's lying, Annie. He's lying.' Artemis took a shaky breath. 'My mother and I will not be able to live safe, happy lives until he is _gone_.'

Annie bit her lip, leaving sharp imprints in the already chapped skin. With three steps she sat down next to him.

'God, Artemis,' she muttered. 'Just... God.'

The boy wiped his forearm across his eyes and sniffed, hard.

'There is no such thing.'

Holly blinked. She had vanished from the pool room and instead found herself in a primary school classroom, complete with clumsy drawings tacked to the walls and, of course, their juvenile artists. Thirty ten-year old heads bobbed in front of her, almost all vigilantly facing the front. A young teacher in a floral dress and non-too-sensible heels teetered at the front of class, pointing to a whiteboard featuring the eight times table.

'And four times eight is...?' Ms Garrett looked around for an appropriate victim. 'Omar?'

Omar had to take a pencil from his mouth before he could answer. 'Thirty two?'

The teacher clapped. 'That's right! And five times eight is...? Sheba?'

'For...ty?' guessed a young blonde with pigtails.

'Yes! And _six_ times eight is...? Artemis?'

The classroom collectively turned to look at the back where a small boy with raven hair was sat at a desk on his own, having pulled his chair as far away from his fellow classmates as possible.

Ms Garrett tapped the board for attention. 'Artemis?' she called again. 'Did you hear me?'

With a laboured sigh the child allowed the three thousand-page helicopter manual he'd been reading to fall spine down on the desk.

'You rang?' he drawled.

The young woman blinked. 'I... I just asked you a question, Artemis. It is Artemis isn't it?' She smiled kindly. 'It's just I heard your mother call you _Arty_ at the last parents evening and I was wondering if you preferred to be called that?'

There was a collective intake of breath from the rest of the class. The last time somebody had called Artemis "_Arty_" Mary Jeffries had lost her septum.

The boy's head cocked to one side. 'I'm sorry,' he said pleasantly. 'I appear to have quite forgotten your name, Ms...?'

'Garrett,' supplied the teacher, still smiling.

Artemis clicked his fingers. 'Of course, yes, Ms Garrett. You were eligible to teach a little over ten months ago, were you not? Graduating from Cambridge with an honours degree in English Literature, before going on to complete your Post Graduate Certificate of Education. You were a fully qualified teacher at the tender age of twenty two.' He smiled endearingly at her. 'Bless you.'

The graduate in question was decidedly taken aback.

'I...I beg your pardon-?'

'I was merely congratulating you on your credentials, Ms Garrett. You should be proud. A person like yourself must have worked _very hard_ to achieve them.'

'Artemis,' said the teacher carefully, realising that this may well be the "little turd" they always spoke about in the staff room. 'I have asked you a question. If you do not know the answer, then I shall go through it with you on the board. There is no need to try and create a distraction.'

The child cocked a thin eyebrow. Around him, the other children were slowly recoiling, watching the youngest Fowl as if he were a landmine in uniform.

'A distraction?' questioned Artemis. 'Why would I try and create a distraction, Ms Garrett? As you can see, I was happily involved in my reading.'

Ms Garrett reached a hand out and snatched the manual from the table. Or at least she tried. Her snatch turned out to be more of a heave.

'Yes, Artemis,' she wheezed, folding her arms around the five kilogram tome. 'I shall have to confiscate this. You know you're not allowed to read while the teacher is teaching.'

Artemis smiled, amused. 'Was that what you were doing? How fascinating.'

She dropped the book onto a nearby desk with an almost deafening bang.

'Artemis! Stop this now. I have asked you to answer a question!'

The boy blinked. 'What question?'

'_Six times eight_!'

'Excuse me? Really, Ms Garrett, you should try to be clearer in your enunciation.'

'I am your _teacher_, Artemis-!'

Artemis gasped, apparently horrified. '_Teacher_? You consider yourself my _teacher_? My God. I know this school has always been a little lax in its hiring standards but I never realised it had sunk to recruiting delusional psychotics.'

Patricia Garrett placed both hands either side of the child's desk, allowing only three inches of space between them.

'I will ask you only one more time,' she growled. 'What is six times eight? I know you know.'

'Threatening a child, Ms Garrett? This is hardly professional behaviour.'

'Just answer the question.'

'And to think, you had such a glittering career ahead of you.'

'This is absurd! _I am more than twelve years older than you!_'

'Oh, _please_. I know women who own breast implants older than _you_.'

'IT'S THE GARDA!'

There was a colossal scraping of chairs as the rest of the class stampeded to the east-side windows. Holly, Artemis and Ms Garrett stared after them. True enough, there was a white police car just pulling into the school car park, its blue roof lights unlit. A man stepped out from the driver's side and opened the back door, self-consciously straightening his protective vest. A woman emerged unsteadily from the car. She was wearing a thick faux-fur coat that hung from one shoulder and what looked to be a silk nightdress underneath.

'Isn't that your Ma?' demanded Petra O'Figgins, un-sticking her nose from the window in order to stare at Artemis. 'She looks _bad_.'

'She's in trouble whatever it is!' announced Madeleine Potts. 'Or at least _Artemis_ is!'

Georgie Khan giggled. 'Artemis is gonna to be _arrested_. Artemis is gonna be _arrested.'_

The chant was picked up by the rest of the class, and had soon built to a tumult. Artemis ignored them, disengaged himself from his teacher, and ran to the window. It was indeed his mother, looking as lost and confused as a child just woken from a dream. A nightmare. Butler appeared at the doors of the school reception and ran to meet the Fowl Matriarch. He caught her just as her knees gave way.

Artemis flinched.

'Your mam looks sick,' stated Jared Northcliffe, and the rest of the class murmured their concurrence.

Artemis gripped the edge of the window ledge, his nails cracking the paint beneath them_._

Butler's massive head obscured his mother's as he bent down to whisper something in her ear, pulling at her arm. He glanced anxiously towards Artemis' classroom window.

There was a sharp knock at the classroom door.

'Ms Garrett?'

Everyone turned. Everyone except the boy with paint under his nails.

'Oh! Mr Farrows,' yelped Ms Garrett, ripping her eyes away from the spectacle outside to face the school's Deputy Headmaster. 'How can I help you? Children, get back to your seats!'

There was a reluctant groan as the majority of the children sloped back to their chairs.

Mr Farrows cleared his throat. 'I'm here to collect Artemis. He's been called for by the headmaster.'

Everyone froze again, turning to face the boy still gazing out the window.

Artemis swallowed. 'Why does he want me?'

The senior teacher looked uncomfortable. 'I... I think they'll explain it to you there, Artemis. If you'd just come along.'

'Should I take my things?'

'Oh, um, yes... yes, I... I should think you should.'

_So this day has finally come, _thought Artemis. He took a steadying breath and turned away from the window. Holly followed him.

The headmaster's office was only a five-minute walk from the year five classroom, and yet that day it felt to Artemis like several hours. At every door they passed there were several faces peeping back at them through the safety-glass portholes. Each face watched him as if he were a man being walked to the gallows. Or maybe that was just his imagination.

Butler was waiting at the end of the final passage; Artemis could recognise that bulk anywhere. Mr Farrows, however, had clearly never been introduced and he gave an audible gulp as they approached.

'Artemis,' murmured the bodyguard, his face turned down.

The boy ignored him, pushing instead into the room beyond. Holly followed. Inside there were four people: two police officers, his mother, and the school's Headmaster, Keith Lister. Doctor Lister fumbled with his teacup as Artemis entered, placing it shakily down on its saucer.

'Ah, Artemis, you're here.'

The boy kept his face devoid of emotion. 'You called for me, Doctor Lister?'

Lister frowned. 'Yes. Yes I did.'

Artemis looked to Angeline Fowl. She was hunched over in her leather chair, a shaking mug of something dark clasped between her hands. Her lips were brushing together as if she were speaking, or singing, but it definitely wasn't to anyone inside the room.

The two Gardai glanced at each other.

'Would you like a biscuit, Artemis?' asked one kindly.

The boy looked at him. He was a tall man, with a neatly trimmed moustache and well-shined shoes. The double arrows on his navy epaulettes told Artemis they'd sent someone of rank.

'Sergeant,' snapped the child. 'I am not stupid. I know something significant has happened, otherwise neither you nor my mother would be here. Please do not add insult to whatever grievance you are about to impress upon me by attempting to placate me with...' He sneered distastefully at the sustenance being offered to him. 'A plate full of ginger hobnobs.'

The man blinked. He retracted the biscuits, placing them hastily back onto Lister's already cluttered desk.

'All...alright then.'

The boy's heart felt like it would burst with the force it was throwing itself against his ribcage.

_This is it. This is it._

'It's the Fowl Star, Artemis, that... that was the name of the boat your father took-'

'_I know the name of the boat!_'

The Sergeant swallowed. 'Right. Well. It's sunk.'

The boy nodded.

_That wasn't so bad._

'Go on.'

The Sergeant's taller colleague frowned.

'It sunk in the Bay of Kola - that's in Russia - and a lot of people have died.'

_You knew that. You knew that __would have to happen._

'Including the Major. Who I believe you knew.'

_Butler's uncle._

'And-'

'And Father,' completed Artemis.

The Gardai exchanged another glance.

'Well, we don't know that for sure,' amended the Sergeant, his eyes creasing at the corners. 'They haven't actually _found_ your father yet.'

'You mean they haven't found a corpse yet.'

Everyone in the room stared at the child, all except Angeline, who continued to whisper to herself.

'Dear me, Artemis,' blustered the Headmaster, his eyes wide. 'What a way to go on. That's your da you're talking about.'

The ten year old smiled tightly. 'I am aware of that, Doctor, thank you.'

The other policeman moved away from the window. 'You're right, Artemis,' he said, taking over from his slightly stunned superior. 'We haven't found a body. There is still a chance that the Russian authorities will find your father alive. However... the boat sank about seventeen hours ago, and the waters your father fell into are very, very cold...'

_Minus one point seven._

'...and people don't tend to survive temperatures that harsh.'

_Ah._

'So,' said Artemis, 'what you're trying to tell me is that my father is missing but _presumed_ dead.'

The man grimaced at the boy's bluntness, but nodded. 'Yes.'

The child clapped his hands. 'Butler!'

His bodyguard's mammoth head appeared immediately around the doorframe. 'Artemis?'

'I wish to go home now,' said the child, as if the room were a park he'd simply grown tired of playing in. 'Would you be so kind as to collect my mother and help her to the car? I predict she will need a little assistance.' He turned back to the two police officers. 'Gentlemen, I thank you for taking the trouble to come down here today. I know the weather on the roads has been more than a little treacherous.'

Doctor Lister stood up from behind his desk.

'Artemis,' he said. 'Artemis, slow down, child. You've just received some terrible news.'

The boy sighed. 'And yet again, Doctor, you display a _remarkable_ ability to always state the patently obvious.'

'Artemis. _Artemis_. Listen to me.'

Lister moved out from his office chair and knelt so their eyes met.

'I know how you're feeling,' he said. 'I _also_ lost my father at a very young age and I can tell you... you don't have to be so _strong_, Artemis. Now is the time to grieve, to think of your father and... and to just get it all out.'

There was a pause. Butler helped a doll-like Angeline to her feet. She murmured something unintelligible.

'To "_get it all out_"?' asked Artemis, a gleam in his eyes. 'Yes, of course. I shall need plenty of time to _get it all out, _won't I? Put me down in the Governor's books for an extended term of absence. Who knows how long I will need to mourn?' He turned sharply to his manservant. 'Butler, we're leaving.'

The child swept from the office. In the playground outside, a plump dinner lady was already ringing the hand-bell for lunch. Doors banged open along the corridor as dozens of children answered her call. They all avoided the lopsided pair of Butler and Angeline, staring at the Fowl Matriarch as if she were wracked with some terrible, contagious disease. Artemis strode to the car and Holly hurried after him.

The drive home passed slowly. Angeline gathered a little more awareness inside the Bentley and kept trying to reach for her son's hand.

'Arty,' she croaked. 'Oh, _Arty_.'

He resolutely avoided the contact.

As soon as the car pulled up at the manor steps, Artemis was out of it.

'Artemis!'

It was Butler, calling from behind him.

'Artemis, wait!'

The boy stopped on the stairs.

'What?' he demanded. 'I have things to do.'

Butler looked up at him, his hand still on the Bentley's driver-side door.

'Artemis. You're upset.'

'No, I am merely impatient to get on.'

'I know it's tempting to simply hide away-'

'Hide? I am not going to hide.'

'Artemis, your mother...'

The wind-stripped birch trees swayed like always and in them squawked their resident murder of crows. Somewhere on the western lawn the Fowl gardener whistled the same tune he'd been whistling for thirty nine years. A sudden gale blew Artemis' dark hair across his face.

'Please, Butler,' he said, keeping his voice level. 'I wish to be alone.'

The child turned and walked up the steps. He crossed the entrance hall, ascended the main stairs, ran down the second corridor, crashed through the door to his bedroom, and crumbled, sobbing, into Annie's waiting arms.

* * *

**And there it is!**

**Artemis attempted to passively murder his father in the Fowl Star incident so that he and his mother could live better lives. **

**Well, that's my theory.**

**Really hate Artemis Sr.**

**Next chapter - Tuley Brannagh is back. **

**Please remember to review (believe me, they do have an impact on when I write.)**

**And thanks again to my amazing new beta - CIELO CRIMISI - without whom this chapter wouldn't be here :D **

**(well it would. It would just be immeasurably shit.)**


	8. Chapter 8 This Charming Man

Hey!

Yes, I'm updating! OMG! And you better get yourselves comfy people because this chapter is a _BEAST_. 7,000 words. Phew.

This chapter was the hardest one to write so far. By FAR. I know it's taken me an age but it does contain a little fan girl service so be happy.

There's also a theme tune to this - **This Charming Man by The Smiths **- with Tuley playing the part of the 'charming man' because well... he's just so delicious.

* * *

REVIEWER FEEDBACK

**Kusajishifuktaicho - **Might be an idea to actually read the chapter before reviewing it lol!

**Ktw18** - Woo! Yes, join the Artemis Senior hate club!

**HallelujahTheCreator** - Thank you! Your review really made me smile (like this - :D) Hope you like this chapter!

**Mr. Woland** - I think I answered your review :/... sorry, it was so long ago now I'm can't remember. It's mega long, I know that. Most of your questions about Annie (Is she dead? A ghost? etc.) are answered in the author's notes in an earlier chapter - kind of. The unravelling of her story is, well, a large part of the story so I don't just want to tell people out right, that'd spoil it!

**BrazeRancor** - I'm glad that you prefer my more 'hardcore' Artemis. He's much more fun to write when twisted.

**killerpoison** - here's the update! Christ, five months later. Jeez. Didn't realise it was that long lol... Artemis Senior killable? You'll just have to wait and see...

**Beckett Simpleton** - This update IS within a year :)

**hello - I am Me** - Epic? D'awwww. I'm re-reading Lord of the Rings at the moment - now THAT'S an epic.

**the one who breathes nitrogen** - Logical to the point of insanity? Good! exactly what I'm aiming at - Artemis in a nutshell.

**Victoria of Memphis** - Here's more Tuley! And it's not strange that you missed this chapter. I don't update it often and it gets lost for months at a time under all the swiftly updated fics :/ ...

**Mischievous101** - Hmm, I did um and ahh about the whole killing Artemis Senior thing but... it does make for delicious family tension doesn't it?

**CESmith372** - Thanks! I always aim to make the next chapter better than the last! It seems disjointed now that Artemis would kill his dad (when thinking of the books) but I think it fits. And I shall show you how as the story goes on :)

**Someone** - No, there isn't another part to this. It was literally just because I'd taken so long to update.

**Baakthat'sthenoiseachickenmakes** - Your review still makes me lol. It's so two-sided. Hope this chapter will tip your view into the positive :)

**anonymous** - Thanks for being that last reviewer to kick me up the arse! It's taken me a long time to write this but... hopefully you'll be happy.

Disclaimer - I don't own Artemis Fowl *sigh*.

_**WARNING - SAUCINESS AHEAD**._

* * *

**'I shan't beg for it.'**

**'I'm terribly sorry, Art. I'm afraid you're going to have to...'**

* * *

_'I am home now, Tuley, and safe. I am, however, also in need of a favour.'_

_'A favour?' purred the young heir, and Artemis could almost hear his grin. 'What kind of a favour...?'_

Chapter Eight - This Charming Man

Artemis checked his watch for the eighth time that minute and _13:36 _flashed back at him. He sighed; his visitor was officially late.

It was a cold day, the coldest day of winter so far, and Artemis was hardly in the mood to be out among the elements. Nevertheless, there he was, waiting under a low stone archway that offered him little protection from the howling winds. He tucked his chin further beneath the collar of his raincoat and dug his hands into his pockets.

Across the courtyard he could see into the school canteen, where almost every student except himself was sitting down to a light gourmet lunch. He watched them through the windows, their coats slung over the backs of their chairs, their cheeks bright with the warmth granted by €4,000-a-term central heating. His stomach gurgled.

'Oh, do shut up,' he muttered.

There was a sudden roar from the far side of the teacher's car park.

A _Porsche Cayman R_ in Peridot Metallic had entered through the school's main gates, its six-cylinder engine growling like a panther before the strike. It wound its way up the gravel and circled the driveway in one smooth turn, coming to a halt just metres from where Artemis was stood. A tinted window sank down into the door revealing a familiar figure.

'I do apologise, Art,' drawled Tuley Brannagh, his eyes hidden behind a pair of large designer sunglasses. 'An issue arose this morning that I was required to deal with. It simply _couldn't_wait.'

'You should have called,' snapped Artemis as the door opened and Tuley stepped smoothly from the car, 'I have been waiting out here for the past forty minutes.' The wind blew their hair and jackets every which way and Artemis caught the scent of something familiar in the air. 'What's that smell?'

'Oh, you'll just have to excuse that,' said Tuley lightly, reaching out an arm and draping it over the shorter boy's shoulders. 'It was a quite a long drive from Kilcullen, and I haven't had the chance to remove the _issue_ from the boot...'

* * *

Artemis opened the door.

'Here,' said the fifteen year old. 'This will do.'

Tuley brushed past him and surveyed the space through the gloom. He took in the the blackboard, the wooden teacher's desk, the lopsided bookshelves laden with dusty texts, and curled his lip with distaste.

'I hate classrooms.'

Artemis closed the door behind him.

'I'm not particularly fond of them myself,' he said, feeling the stippled wall for a light switch, 'but needs must. This is the old wing and no one has taught here for years. We are unlikely to be disturbed.'

The lights sputtered to life above them.

Tuley sat back on the edge of a desk. 'I missed you at the party, Art. I do wish you hadn't had to go rushing off like that. And just when I thought things were going so well. Volga was _quite_ put out. You know, I think she might have a thing for you.'

'Do you really?'

'Why of course. Who doesn't?'

Artemis mounted the platform at the front of the class and Tuley watched him closely.

'I had to convene with my father,' said Artemis.

'On what matter?'

'The meeting he had attended.'

'And what did he say?'

'He... he told me to mind my own business.'

Tuley's laugh was deadened by mildewed walls.

'"_To mind your own business_"? My, my, Art. You _have_ lost your touch.'

'It was nothing to do with _touch_,' snapped Artemis, his expression soured. 'He simply wishes for me not to be involved. I offered him my services but... he refused.'

'Hmm. So _that's_ why I'm here. Interesting...'

Artemis's brow contracted. 'I beg your pardon?'

Tuley sighed. 'Come now, Art,' he said, sliding down from the desk. 'I knew this was never a social summons. Your father refused you information, information that _I_ happen to possess. You have brought me here in order to obtain it.'

For a moment there was silence.

'And will I?'

'Will you what?'

'Obtain it?'

Tuley shrugged lightly. 'You _may_,' he drawled. 'It really depends. I know I _shouldn't_ tell you but...for some reason granting you the forbidden is so very _tempting_.'

Artemis straightened slowly to his full height.

'Then why not indulge yourself?'

'Well as I said, I don't think I should. If your father has told you "no" then why should I be the one to say "yes"?'

With eyes smothered by shadow, Artemis descended the platform, stepping into the flickering glare of the strip-lights. He stopped mere inches from the taller boy.

'I shan't beg for it, Tuley.'

Tuley sighed deeply.

'I'm terribly sorry, Art,' he said, reaching out a hand and winding it around the boy's silken neck-tie, 'but I'm afraid you're going to have to...'

* * *

Artemis Fowl had never been the most tactile of children. He wasn't one for casual hugs, or quick little pecks on the cheek or the lips. He preferred to remain untouched, and thus, untouchable.

Unless it served a purpose.

An embrace from his mother had always acted as a comfort to the woman. It caused her to put aside her usual, irksome, maternal concern for just a few short seconds. Or, if done correctly, for the next few hours as she thought about her son and how she supposed he really _did_ love her despite all outward appearances. An embrace from Father was dangerous ground. It was only ever done as a show for his mother, or at least it was in the old days. Artemis Senior would lower his arms and wrap them stiffly around his only son and the little Artemis would always be tempted to squeeze back as hard as he could. But no, that would have been inappropriate. And so they would break away much too soon, and Angeline's eyes would fill with happy tears - the desired effect achieved.

Touch was manipulation. Simple, strategic actions executed in order to gain something. Artemis had sometimes wondered what his father had needed on the night of his conception. Or indeed, what his mother had needed. For a long time he had struggled to come to an answer.

Tuley's hand pulled to the side and Artemis felt the firm, but familiar, pressure of silk sliding free from his collar.

'How many people, Tuley?'

'Hmm?'

'At the meeting, how many were in attendance?'

'Well there was my mother...' - He slipped his hands beneath Artemis's jacket - 'Volga's mother, your father,' – spread the lapels apart - 'The Baron, Callum Shinner,' – and pushed the blazer back over the boy's shoulders - 'a representative for some Scottish gentlemen who has apparently been making a _killing_ in the drugs trade, and... Oh dear, I can't quite remember who else...'

Artemis shrugged against the shoulders of his blazer, causing it to slip from his arms to the dusty floor.

'Tell me, Tuley.'

The assassin sighed and dragged the boy to him. 'There were another two men, but my mother didn't recognise them. They both needed translators.'

'And what of The Neck?'

Tuley's eyes strayed to the soft camber of Artemis's throat. 'Hmm... What indeed...'

The Fowl Heir frowned.

_He's getting distracted._

He reached his long fingers behind Tuley's head and laced them into his hair. The taller boy purred appreciatively until the fingers tightened and his head was pulled sharply back.

Tuley hissed angrily but Artemis's grip was unrelenting. 'What of The _Neck,_ Tuley?'

Tuley grimaced. 'He wasn't present. The Baron had set up a video screen and they spoke through live conference.'

'And did he show his face?'

'No, the picture was in shadow. All they saw was a silhouette.'

Artemis relaxed his grip.

Tuley was quick to take advantage, reaching his hands around the other boy's waist and yanking him back flush to his body. Breath, hot and steady, burned against Artemis's neck.

'Tuley-'

'Shut up, please.'

Hard lips pressed to the skin below Artemis's ear and the boy's breath came short.

'I don't want to talk,' he hissed, fingers clenching against Artemis's hips, 'I don't want to play.' With one sharp movement, he twisted, slamming the smaller boy up against a table. 'I just want _you_. Over this desk. Preferably without protest.'

Artemis glared back over his shoulder. 'Preferably?'

Tuley's hips grinded forward and Artemis gasped, his hands clenching to the wood. 'Yes. _Preferably_.'

_Compose yourself_, he thought as the taller boy adjusted himself, his mouth trailing the skin of Artemis's neck. _You need to get those answers._

Artemis braced his hands against the desk and turned.

'What did The Neck say?' he demanded, his face inches from the other boy's own.

'Why do you care, Art?'

'Because it is important.'

'Your father has dealt with it. Why worry?'

Artemis's mouth tightened.

'Because you don't trust him? Is that it?'

'No.'

Tuley's head dove forward.

'I think it is,' he whispered, his cheek brushed against Artemis's own. 'I think you don't trust him, but simply can't admit it... not even to yourself.'

Artemis just stood there.

A thin tongue trailed slowly around the rim of his ear. The smaller boy shivered, clenched a hand around Tuley's collar.

'Tuley, just tell me.'

The taller boy leant back slightly, smiling at him in a most self-satisfied way. 'Alright,' he said, 'if you insist. At the meeting The Neck offered each of the attendants a place in his organisation. He explained that it was a growing enterprise, but that the rewards were already handsome. With their rich additions to 'The Family', as he called it, they would soon have the whole world dancing to their tune. The Scottish gentlemen asked under what terms they would be joining him- as associates, or underlings? The Neck replied underlings. My mother asked him if he knew who they were and he replied that he did. Your father said he couldn't possibly, because if he had he wouldn't have wasted their time bringing them there to offer them positions of servitude. The Neck asked that they take his proposal seriously, that there would be repercussions if they didn't. One of the Asian gentlemen asked how they could possibly take him seriously. He argued that The Neck was basically an unknown: just a recent upstart throwing his weight around in the excitement of a few lucky successes. Volga's mother suggested they close the discussion and leave before any more of their time could be squandered. The Baron looked reluctant, but he moved to close the connection. The Neck told them that they had one last chance to accept him, or else accept the consequences. Callum Shinner reached over and slammed the screen down. They then left.'

There was silence. Artemis's mind was burning behind his brow, churning over every word he'd heard.

_They refused. They all refused._

Strong fingers pulled at his wrists.

_The whole room was practically laughing at him._

They were firm but gentle, guiding Artemis's hands forward.

_And Father. He was with them. Didn't The Neck know who he was? How _dare _he waste my father's time?_

'Art...' called Tuley, 'Art…?'

_How_dare_he assume he would join him?_

'Artemis..?'

_My father is a man alone._

'Artemis.'

_Not someone to be threatened or played with._

He snapped back Artemis's belt buckle and the smaller boy stiffened.

'Well,' whispered Tuley, 'that _certainly_ seems to have regained your attention.'

Artemis snarled. '_No_, Tuley.'

'Oh, Art. Don't be silly.' He wrenched the leather sideways, stripping it away with one clean motion.

Artemis grabbed the end just as it was whipping from his waist. He clung on, despite the sting in his palm.

'Tuley, stop it.'

'No.'

'Tuley-'

A thin finger shot up and pressed to his lips.

'Not. Another. _Word_.'

The finger drifted down, bisecting the pressed white cotton of Artemis's shirt. When it reached his trouser line, it curled into a gap and teased the shirt slowly loose. Artemis looked directly into his eyes.

'Tuley...'

The other boy ignored him. 'I'm going to kiss you now and I want you to kiss me back.'

'Tuley, I-'

'Hush...'

He was coming closer. Much closer. Artemis watched, his eyes widening, his back bending over the desk...

Too close.

Artemis struck out, punching both hands deep into the other boy's stomach. Tuley slammed back. There was a piercing scrape and a series of bangs as the nearest tables were sent tumbling in a melee of metal and legs.

'_What are you playing at?_' roared Tuley, scrabbling to regain his balance.

Artemis just looked at him, the desk-edge cutting cruelly into the new bruises at the small of his back.

The taller boy struggled upright. His jacket had fallen open and Artemis could see the holster of his compact berretta.

'_Damn it_, Fowl,' he snapped. 'What is _wrong_ with you?'

'I'm...I'm sorry.'

'And so you fucking should be! I've got to be in Nice by ten tonight for a mafia job. How do you think I'll fare with my back in pieces?' Tuley's cheeks had flushed scarlet. '_Well?_'

Artemis didn't answer.

He just took two steps forward and dragged the assassin down by his collar.

Tuley's eyes widened as lips hit against his. The smaller boy's hands clutched to his jacket, pulling him closer, pulling him tight. He broke off, panting.

'I'm... sorry,' gasped Artemis.

Both boys stared at each other.

_What am I doing?_thought Artemis, fingers still clenched around Tuley's lapel. _I've never wanted this. I've never needed this._

The blood pulsed in his fingertips.

_You've never needed this more in your entire life._

Both boys exploded forward at the same time.

Tuley's excess height set them off-balance, slamming them sideways into a desk. Neither boy much cared – each was too busy gasping and gripping for the other. Tuley's jacket was lost in a flurry of West-country tweed and Artemis's shirt followed quickly after.

'If this is... "sorry",' panted Tuley, his hands roving greedily over the newly exposed flesh, 'I'd just love... to see "thank you".'

The smaller boy didn't answer, one arm was hooked around Tuley's neck, the other reaching blindly behind him. His palm met with cold wall and Tuley slammed him against it.

'Too hard,' protested the teenager before his mouth was distracted by other things.

Tuley groaned, apparently in concurrence, and clenched his hand deeper into Artemis's hair. Artemis felt for the fingers splayed across his navel and gripped them with his own.

Somewhere, in a place much further than either boy could be bothered to contemplate, a bell had begun to ring. It was loud and authoritative, accompanied by the deep, echoing thunder of a thousand teenagers finished with their last lesson of the day.

'You shouldn't have come to that party,' whispered Tuley. 'You're all I've thought of for days.'

'Really?' asked Artemis. 'How very tiresome.'

His head tilted and there was silence - silence but for the pounding clamour of the students below them and the fierce, hungry movements of skin against skin.

* * *

Butler flicked the stick at the side of the steering wheel sending the already thrashing window-wipers into overdrive. The rain was pouring down the windscreen, pooling and dancing at the top of the glass. Butler frowned. It was at times like this that he wished he were a little shorter, or at least that _Land Rover _made a range of vehicles suitable for seven foot drivers.

He checked the clock on the dashboard. _15:20_ flashed back. He was early. Artemis wouldn't mind, he was sure. He was usually the first out of the school gates at the end of the day, wrenching the landy's door open before it had even come to a proper stop.

The manservant parked the jeep in the teacher's car-park and killed the ignition. There was silence but for the drum of the rain on the roof.

He sighed wearily.

_Well here I am again, just waiting for him..._

He closed his eyes, and rested his head back against the seat prop.

'_Butler, would you mind joining me for a moment? I have something I wish to discuss.'_

Butler frowned as the unwelcome memory of Saturday night rose to the forefront of his mind. It had been a strange evening. First the party, then Artemis' sudden rush to leave it, and then the tight, unmentionable tension of the car journey home. Butler hadn't been able to hear much of Artemis and his father's conversation from his position in the driver's seat, but he could tell there had been an edge to it. He had left them to it, parked the Bentley in its customary space in the garage, and begun his nightly routine of checks and locks.

He had visited Artemis before retiring.

'_What happened tonight?'_

_'It is late. Goodnight, Butler.'_

_'Artemis-'_

'Goodnight_, Butler.'_

The door had closed in his face. The manservant had sighed, stared at the wood for a moment more before turning and walking back up the corridor. On the second floor a door had opened.

'_Butler_,' said Artemis Senior, a darkened shadow in the light then spilling into the corridor. '_Would you mind joining me for a moment? I have something I wish to discuss_.'

The manservant had ignored his sudden feeling of foreboding and followed the elder man into the room. It was an old office stuffed with discarded fittings and ill-suited furniture. Artemis Senior had gestured casually to a spindly dining chair but Butler had shaken his head.

'_I'd rather stand, sir.'_

Artemis Senior had looked at him, for a moment almost as if seeing someone else, then slowly taken his own seat behind the desk. '_As you will...' _

The room had fallen silent. Butler had taken his chance to scan the room a little closer and noticed a dark stain in the pile of the carpet.

'_I wish to discuss my son, Butler.'_

The manservant's attention had instantly been diverted. '_Artemis?_'

'_Hmm. I have been meaning to talk to you about him for quite some time now but...never seem to have found the right moment.'_

A clock had struck twice from somewhere deep within the manor.

'_What is it you wished to talk about, sir?'_

'_I...' _Artemis Senior had appeared to hesitate._ 'I am concerned, Butler.'_

'_Concerned?_'

'_Yes. I have received information lately... information that has led me to believe that my son is still involved in a criminal life.' _

Butler's brow had contracted. '_What?'_

There was silence - silence but for the clanking of cooling pipes on the floors above.

'_I know you are surprised,' _sighed Artemis Senior. '_I was at first. Now, I admit, I am merely disappointed...'_

'_What information?'_

'_Excuse me?'_

'_You said you had received information. What information?'_

The elder Fowl's lips had twitched.

'_A confession_. _I shan't tell you exactly what passed between Artemis and I in this room tonight, but he has confessed to me his renewed association with certain... unfavourable individuals. He has been looking up old contacts, reforming old connections. He met with a few of them tonight, at the Baron's.'_

'_No,' _said Butler, shaking his head emphatically. '_He wouldn't.'_

Artemis Senior had cocked a thin eyebrow. '_Oh?_'

'_With all due respect, sir, Artemis wouldn't dare go back to his old ways. He has changed these last few years. He knows too much is at stake: his family, his friends._'

'_Then why would he tell me he has?'_

The manservant's frown had deepened. '_I don't know, sir. All I _do_ know is that there must be an explanation - something with a positive motive. _'

'_You truly believe that?'_

'_Yes_,' said Butler. '_I do._'

Artemis Senior had snorted softly.

'_You are close to him, Butler, I can tell. But you still have much to learn about my son. This isn't the first time he has managed to hide his misdeeds from you and I'd be willing to bet that it isn't even the hundredth. It certainly won't be the last. The boy is an expert in deceit...'_

The bodyguard had remained silent.

'_I wish you to keep an eye on him,' _continued Artemis Senior, 'a_nd inform me if he does anything else out of the ordinary. Any meetings, any strange phone calls. Do you understand?'_

Butler had stared hard at the wall.

'_I said, do you understand?_'

'_Yes._' The word had been cold, forced.

The elder man had smiled. _'Good, then you may leave.'_

Butler's walk back to his ground-floor room had never felt longer. A thousand thoughts and feelings had battered at his mind. The strongest was anger.

_He is meant to be Artemis's father. What is he doing, lecturing me on a son he has hardly known? And what is he doing ordering me to _spy_ on him? And what is _Artemis_ doing meeting with his old contacts! He promised he'd left all that behind! _

Butler's mind had flown briefly back to their time spent underground, to the heart-ache they had both experienced as a consequence of Artemis' therapy.

_No. He has changed. He wouldn't dare go back to his old ways. Not after everything. You'll just have to go and talk to him. Artemis will have an explanation._

'He'd better,' muttered Butler.

He had reached his door, swiped his key-card against the lock, and gone inside.

Butler opened his eyes to the sound of a bell.

Class after class was pouring out from the school's main entrance. The girls squealed as their shoes met with puddles and the boys yelled, swore, jumped, splashed. Play fights broke out; umbrellas were brandished like rapiers, bags used as rams... but still no sign of Artemis.

Butler pulled out his phone and held it to his ear. The dial tone switched instantly to voicemail.

'_You have reached the phone of Artemis Fowl II-_'

The manservant snapped it shut. He swung open the driver's door and stepped out into the rain.

* * *

Artemis pulled back, his need for oxygen forcing his head back against the concrete of the wall.

'Y'okay?' murmured Tuley, a little short of breath himself.

Artemis nodded. 'Yes.'

He closed their eyes, feeling their chests heave in rhythm.

'Then... may I suggest...' Tuley licked his lips. 'That we relocate to a more... apposite location..?'

Artemis looked at him.

And noticed the clock over his right shoulder.

He baulked.

'Artemis?' asked Tuley concerned. 'What's wrong?'

Artemis ignored him, hands scrabbling at the pockets of the taller boy's trousers. Tuley laughed, bemused, raising his hands above his head as his hips were patted and pulled.

Artemis finally yanked out a phone and flashed up the time.

'_Damn it._'

'What is it?'

'I need to go.'

'What? Now?'

'Yes. _Now_.'

He broke free from the wall and snatched his shirt up from the floor, slinging the cotton over his shoulders and buttoning his torso from sight.

'Cufflinks,' demanded the boy. 'Where are my cufflinks?'

Tuley smirked. 'Here.'

Artemis snatched the pair from Tuley's palm, his hands shaking slightly as he pinched them into his sleeves.

'Jacket?'

'There.'

Artemis hurried to where Tuley was pointing and yanked the blazer up over his arms. He spotted his belt on the floor a few feet away and scooped it up. Whilst he finished slipping the leather back through the loops he scanned the floor for the last discarded article...

Tuley coughed softly. 'Looking for this?'

Artemis looked round.

Tuley was dangling the tie teasingly from his right hand, swaying it gently like a silken pendulum.

'Give it to me,' demanded Artemis, conscious of the seconds ticking by. 'Seriously, Tuley, I need to leave.'

Tuley tipped his head to one side, pouting shamelessly. 'Why?'

Artemis made to snatch the tie from him but Tuley quickly held it out of reach. 'Ah, ah, ah,' he sang, shaking a long finger at the smaller boy. 'I asked you a question...'

'One to which you already know the answer.'

'Not ashamed are you, Art?'

'Ashamed?'

'Hmm, of fraternising with a known criminal, _seducing_ me like you did... And just when you'd been so _good_.'

Tuley laughed nastily.

Artemis turned from him, grabbed his satchel up from the floor and swiftly left the classroom.

Tuley called after him. 'Art!'

The boy didn't glance back. The corridor was long and dark with the storm outside and his footsteps kept time with the thunder. He cursed himself inwardly.

_What were you doing? How could you have let yourself get so involved?_

He burst through the mid-corridor fire doors, slamming them both back against the walls. Tuley's wide footfalls followed close behind him.

'Art-!'

A hand yanked at his sleeve. Artemis wrenched his arm away but the fingers clamped down hard on his forearm. He stopped mid-step, forced to face his capturer.

'_What?'_ demanded Artemis. 'What do you want?'

Tuley's face was once again inches from Artemis's own. 'I'd have thought that was obvious by now.'

Artemis' jaw tightened. He grasped at Tuley's hand, attempting to rip the fingers from his arm. Tuley remained silent as he struggled.

'Tuley!' burst Artemis, after a few more seconds of futile effort. 'Just let me _go_!' He dug his nails into the gap between his skin, gasping in frustration . '_Tuley!_'

'Why do you try so hard, Art?'

Artemis looked up. 'What?'

'Just give in to it. _Indulge_ yourself.'

'You are being ridiculous.'

'Am I?'

'Yes. You are.'

Tuley's fingers slackened just as Artemis gave another yank of his arm. The teenager flew backwards, unbalanced, and landed in a heap at the base of the corridor wall.

Tuley smirked. 'Now who's the ridiculous one?'

Artemis's face flushed red. He braced his back against the concrete ready to lift himself when a hand suddenly appeared in his field of vision.

'Here,' said Tuley. 'Let me help you.'

Artemis glared at him. 'Don't _touch_ me. '

'Must we go through this again?'

'Through w_hat_ again?'

'This little act of yours! The one where you pretend not to want me for the next thirty seconds until, in a sudden burst of desperate passion, you finally succumb to your overwhelming and completely understandable need for me and proceed to ravish my wanton body! It is getting repetitive and frankly tiresome.'

Artemis spluttered. '_Wanton body?_'

Tuley raised a thin eyebrow. 'Yes, what about it?'

'What indeed!'

Artemis snorted. There was a pause, a hesitation, before he thrust his hand upwards.

Tuley grabbed it and hauled the boy to his feet.

'_Wanton body..._' muttered Artemis as he straightened. 'Honestly...'

Tuley brought the hand to his mouth and kissed the skin above Artemis's knuckles. 'Honestly.'

The boy sobered at the touch.

'I can't, Tuley,' he said softly.

'Why?'

'You _know_ why.'

'I am not asking for the world, Art. I am only asking for you, for one night.'

'It isn't that simple.'

'I beg to differ. I have a car downstairs just _waiting_ to whisk us away to wherever we so desire...'

'Tuley, I can't just-'

'_Why ponder life's complexity when the leather runs smooth on the passenger seat_?'

Artemis frowned but didn't struggle as Tuley drew him nearer.

'Come with me,' whispered the taller boy. 'Don't think, just come.'

Artemis's breath was uneven. 'Tuley I-'

'Artemis.'

Both their heads snapped up.

Domovoi Butler was stood at the end of the corridor, his darkened overcoat dripping water slowly to the floor. His black eyes were burning.

'Terribly sorry,' he said, in a voice as deep and dangerous as the thunder. 'Not interrupting anything, am I?'

* * *

Holly woke to the squawk of her intercom.

'Holly? Holly!'

She breathed in sharply and raised both hands to her face.

'Holly, come on! I know you're in there!'

_Who the d'arvit is that?_

'Holly, it's Foaly!'

_Oh_.

She staggered up and pressed the button on the wall-communicator.

'What d'you want, Foaly?'

The centaur's face appeared in the tiny screen.

'I want to talk, Holly,' he said, his long face even wearier and more stressed than usual. 'I want to talk to you and... and maybe apologise.'

The elf frowned.

_Apologise for what?_

Then last night's events caught up with her; the flight to Fowl Manor, the body-scan of the clearing... her abrupt dismissal from Recon.

She closed her eyes against the sudden barrage of memory.

'Holly, please!' begged Foaly. 'Just let me up.'

Her limp fist knocked against the release button and Foaly's face disappeared from her screen. She walked away, dimly noticing the sounds of Foaly's hooves as he rushed up the three flights to her apartment. The door burst open. Holly just looked at him, her thin arms slack at her sides.

'If you've come to gloat,' she said lowly, 'go ahead. You were right.'

Foaly's face fell. 'I didn't come for that. I came to see if you were alright.'

'Oh, I'm fine, Foaly. Just magnificent...'

The centaur winced. 'I'm so sorry, Holly.'

'So am I, Foaly.'

'I did try to warn you Trouble was coming! I left you plenty of messages!'

Holly's shoulders hardened for a second but then she released them. Foaly fidgeted, pulling at the hem of his jacket.

'Holly.'

'What?'

'I... I _am_ sorry.'

Holly considered this and then nodded. 'I know. I just... can we not talk about it? Do you want a coffee or something?'

The centaur frowned but nodded. 'Yeah. That'd be good.'

He stepped back and pushed shut the door of the apartment, glancing about the space around him. It was a single room, modest but not undersized, with an open-plan living room and a kitchen that ran the full length of the back wall. The sofa-bed, still unfolded and unmade, sat in a slight depression in the floor, accompanied by a small armchair, an out-moded media centre and a coffee table scattered with papers and leftover take-out cartons. At the far end of the room was a door, slightly ajar, that Foaly assumed led to the water-room. The slight breeze issuing from the narrow gap confirmed it.

Foaly jumped slightly as the tinkling of a spoon against porcelain hit his ears. Holly stepped down into her living room and handed him a steaming cup. The centaur accepted it gratefully.

'Thank you.'

'You're welcome.'

'Nice mugs,' commented Foaly after a few moments silence, 'they're a good size.'

Holly nodded. 'Artemis sent them to me. Demitasse cups. Bought by his mother in Sicily apparently. He thought they would fit my hands.'

Foaly's composure broke and he dropped his cup to the table. 'Holly, they _can't_ dismiss you!' he burst. 'They just _can't_! Not after all you've done! How many times have you saved Haven? Dozens! I mean, who was responsible for the entire demon race making it back to Earth? _You _were! And after all you did in the Goblin uprising, what with Opal and that- that head-case Cudgeon! And when Artemis lost the cube thing to that bunch of psychotic, mob-based Chicagoans! _You _saved us all, Holly! They won't dismiss just because of a little skit to the surface... surely.'

Holly shook her head. 'It doesn't matter, Foaly. I've crossed the line. You should have seen Trouble's face.'

The centaur grimaced. 'I suppose he can't have been too happy about the going-to-see-Artemis excuse.'

Holly's lips twitched a little at that. 'No, not really.'

'It...It was the only thing I could think of to tell him.'

The elf sighed and sat down on her futon. 'It's alright. He would have assumed it was Artemis anyway. It was the truth after all...'

Foaly looked determinedly at the coffee table, pretending to scrutinise the scarce remains of a locust chow mein. 'So,' he said hesitantly, 'did you, erm, did you find anything in the clearing?'

Holly's mind flew back to the moment when she'd crouched in the dust, her face pressed close to the scanning column.

'No,' she whispered. 'There was nothing.'

Foaly smiled slightly. 'Well at least _that's_ something. We can leave all this dream nonsense behind.'

Holly's eyes looked straight ahead. 'No, we can't.'

Foaly's expression would have been comic if it weren't for the seriousness of her comment.

'Um, I think we kind of _can_, Holly. Or at least _I _think we can; now we know that Arty's dad hasn't actually been _planting_ people.'

She stood as he spoke and began to pace.

'But it doesn't make sense,' she muttered. 'Why would she show me the burials if they didn't exist?'

'We've been over this, Holly.'

'Could the bodies have been moved?'

'_No_, because they're _dream _bodies, and _dream _bodies don't exist.'

'And... and who will be the new ones?'

Foaly froze. 'What?'

The elf stopped pacing.

'Annie, she... she told me not to worry because... because there would soon be plenty of bodies for me to find...'

Foaly's face had turned deathly white. 'Holly. You're scaring me.'

'I'm scaring _you_?' she scoffed. 'I'm scaring _you_? How do you think _I_ feel, Foaly?'

She laughed, piercingly, almost hysterically. Her friend flinched.

'You're not acting like yourself, Holly. You need help. We need to get you to a doctor.'

'And they'll do what, Foaly? Tell me I'm wrong? That I'm mad? I already know how mad this is, Foaly!'

The centaur tried to quell the panic inside him.

'You're not mad, Holly,' he said as calmly as he could. 'You're just confused. Twenty minutes with Doctor Argon and you'll be good as new.'

_'Argon_? I don't think Argon could handle _this_, Foaly. Orion's got nothing on Annie.'

She turned sharply away from him and walked the few short steps to her kitchen. Foaly watched as she grabbed another demitasse from a cupboard and filled it with water. She gulped it back.

'No,' she gasped, slamming the cup to the worktop. 'I don't need a doctor. I just need to go back to sleep.'

'_Sleep_?'

Holly nodded. 'So I can see more of the dreams. He's getting older in every one, Foaly. It shouldn't be too long before I catch up with our time. Artemis was ten is the last one and he's only fifteen now.'

'The last one?'

'The most recent one.'

'And... and what happened in it?'

'Artemis told Annie about the Fowl Star and how it was going to be blown up. He knew months in advance that his father might die but decided he wanted him dead.'

Foaly's expression was mutinous.

'WOULD YOU JUST LISTEN TO YOURSELF?' he exploded. '_ARTEMIS, _KILL HIS _FATHER_? HE KIDNAPPED _YOU_ JUST TO FUND THE SEARCH PARTIES! HE FOUGHT WITH _GOBLINS_ JUST TO GET HELP WITH THE RESCUE ATTEMPT!'

Holly felt colour flood her face. 'I _know_, Foaly.'

'THEN WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHY ARE YOU STILL BELIEVING THIS?'

'_BECAUSE IT'S TRUE_!' screamed Holly.

The centaur staggered back. He had never heard that voice before. It had come from Holly and yet it hadn't sounded like her. It had sounded younger, teenage almost. Human.

Holly had clapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.

_'Annie_,' she gasped through her fingers. 'Oh, Gods, _Annie_!'

Foaly shook his head, moving swiftly to the door.

Holly staggered forward. 'Foaly-!'

'I'm going to get you some help,' he said firmly, the hand that gripped the latch behind him shaking against the metal. 'Just stay in this room. _Don't leave._'

Then he was gone.

For a long moment Holly just stood there. Then slowly she took a breath.

_Calm_, she told herself, _remain calm._

She breathed again, and again, each intake beginning to sound more and more like a sob. She walked down into her living room and crawled onto the outstretched bed, pushing her face into the rumpled sheets.

_You're not mad_, she told herself. _You're not mad._

And she kept telling herself that until she finally fell asleep.

* * *

Annie looked at her.

'You're definitely not mad, Holly,' she said. 'Believe me, I would know.'

Holly felt lost, helpless.

'But I must be. How else could I not have found the bodies?'

The girl frowned sympathetically then shrugged.

'I've already told you, Holly, there'll soon be plenty for everyone.'

The world faded.

Holly found herself in a bedroom, a familiar and impeccable bedroom. The four-poster bed was to her right, and sat in the centre was a dark-haired, pale-skinned boy. He had his legs crossed, and each hand was laid loosely palm-up on his knees. As the elf watched, the child took steady breaths in through his nose then out his open mouth, lids fluttering over closed eyes.

The window had been left open and outside the day was steely with clouds. It wasn't raining, but by the dark swell under the belly of each aerial behemoth, it looked like it soon would be. The wind flapping at the velveteen curtains was icy to the flesh.

Suddenly a face appeared at the window.

It was small and its expression mischievous. The narrowed eyes quickly surveyed the room inside before dropping again from sight. Holly looked to the figure on the bed but the boy hadn't stirred.

The face surfaced again and this time a pair of hands grasped at the glossy window sill. The hands pulled, levering an entire body into the room, all without so much as a creak to give their presence away.

The boy still didn't move.

The figure on the windowsill slid a rucksack from their back, carefully placing it down onto the carpet. They then set down their own foot all the while warily watching the meditating child. Once one foot was grounded they set down the second, braced against the wooden ledge with the heels of both palms. Stability achieved, they let go of the shelf, and began to creep towards the four poster.

With less noise than a dead panther the figure put a foot up on the bed's thick bottom-board, and with the help of one the antique posts, levered themselves up into a standing position. They now stood silently above the boy on the bed, watching the oblivious child with a mixture of smugness and wicked delight.

Very carefully the figure crouched down onto the wood, and with one hand still holding to the bed post, began to lean their body towards the boy in the centre. Slowly the figure's face grew closer to the child's, stopping once it was only an inch or two away. Then, being careful not to breathe, the intruder poked out a thin, pointy tongue... and pressed it firmly to the tip of the boy's nose.

'AGH!'

Artemis Fowl reared backwards and fell promptly off the side of the bed. Annie Shinner collapsed into the covers.

'Oh my God!' she gasped; her eyes closed and tears creeping over her cheeks. 'Your face! Your feckin _face_!'

Artemis scowled up at her from his spot on the carpet.

'That wasn't funny,' he growled.

'You're right,' agreed Annie, her lips twitching. 'It was _hilarious_!'

She flopped back again, clutching her stomach as her body curled with laughter. Artemis clambered back on top of his sheets, giving her a vengeful shove so that she rolled to the very edge of the mattress. Her hand shot out and she clung to his wrist, half her back already headed to the floor.

She grinned up at him. 'If I go, you go!'

The boy glared at her before wrenching his arm back, pulling her up with it. Annie laughed and propelled herself further than his strength could ever have managed, sending her crashing into him.

'Annie!' protested the boy, his voice muffled from beneath her. 'Get off!'

The boy kicked and rolled, and the girl gave as good as she got, both of them destroying any semblance of neatness the bed's arrangement had held. They may have been the same size, but Annie had developed technique, easily sending Artemis's head again and again into the mattress. Eventually, she took pity on her victim and flopped lazily over him to rest at his side. They both lay staring up at the ceiling, panting.

After a few breathless moments Annie turned her face towards him. She blinked.

'What the feck are you wearing?'

Artemis glanced briefly down at his torso before returning his eyes to the fresco.

'A suit.'

'_Why_?'

'Because it _suits_ me.'

'My sides are cracking, really they are. Who died?'

'This suit is _navy_. I believe that _black_is the colour traditionally worn at funerals.'

'Whatever. You look a prize eejit.'

'Charming.'

'No, seriously, you look like you're about to appear in the world's most boring production of _Bugsy Malone._' She sat up a pushed her fingers at his hair. 'And what the fuck is in your hair? It feels like you've _varnished_ it.'

He slapped her hand away.

'I am dressing seriously in order to be taken seriously.'

She snorted. _'Classic_.'

Artemis scowled at her. 'Like you can talk,' he said nastily. 'Hair like a rat's nest, dressed in a fifth-hand pair of tracksuit-bottoms and a t-shirt emblazoned with a slogan you can't even _read_.'

Annie hands curled into fists. 'I _can _read it,' she hissed.

'_Go on then._'

She stretched the hem of her t-shirt out and squinted down at her chest.

'It's upside-down,' she said. 'Of course I can't read it if it's upside-down.'

'Then I'll write it out for you.'

Artemis reached to his bedside cabinet and snatched up a moleskin notebook. With large, even letters he copied out the word.

'There,' said the boy smartly. 'Read it now.'

Annie got up onto her knees, frowning in concentration.

'The first letter is... is a "ruh", then a double "ah"-'

'"Eh"'

'What?'

'It's a double "eh", which makes an "ee" sound.'

'Right, and the next letter is a "buh" then an "O", then a "cah"-'

'"Kuh"'

'"Kuh". So ruhee...ruh-ee-buh- _Reebok_! Ha!' crowed Annie, flinging the notepad across the room. 'I told you I could do it!'

The boy shrugged. 'No-one would have bet against you.'

She slumped back onto the bed.

'I know you just distracted me,' she said to the ceiling, 'but we can talk about the psychological issues of your Daddy-clone act later. I need to know about _Morocco_.'

Artemis's brow furrowed. 'What?'

She snorted impatiently and slung her leg over the boy beside her, levering herself up so she sat perched on his stomach.

'You _know_ what,' she said, her long hair brushing his cheeks.

'I assure you I don't.'

He twisted and she was slammed sideways into the king sized mattress. They faced each other on the blankets, Annie's thin legs still gripping his hips.

'You were in Morocco _five_ days ago and you're telling me you don't know what I'm on about?'

'If you mean the lemur-'

She hefted herself on top of him again, pinning his shoulders with her hands. 'No, I don't mean the _lemur_. You'd _told_ me you'd stolen a lemur.'

Artemis was getting impatient.

'Well _what_ then?'

She shoved her face down to his.

'You never told me you'd stolen a _fairy_.'

* * *

**Ooooooooh. Sorry, I'm so cruel. I know that chapter has the two of the worse cliff hangers I've ever put in this story.**

**Next chapter continues the Tuley/Arty/Butler thread and actually slips into canon (OMG) as in, the dreams catch up with the books :D But told (as always) from a different angle...**

**Please review! They're not wasted! I value your opinions and they do affect updates! Also, I shall respond to every single one. I'm going to start answering signed ones directly and anonymous ones at the tops of chapters, just because I should have done it that way months ago but I'm just so damn old-school. **

_So, go on. Tell the purple box your thoughts..._


	9. Chapter 9 Daffodils & Picasso

A/N: Hello Autumn! Apologies etc. for the long gap. Took me three attempts to write this chapter but I got there in the end.

Full thanks go to CieloCrimisi for beta-ing and beta-ing... and beta-ing this chapter. YOU WIN... A PRIZE OF SOME SORT! (sorry, but you don't win Butler/Tuley smut because that would be several levels of nasty.) Feel free to attempt it yourself - you may have full ownership of that pairing. What would it be called? Buley? Tutler? A 'Tutler' fic? That sounds... wrong somehow. Which figures - BECAUSE IT WOULD BE!O_o

* * *

_Disclaimer_ - Jeez, Louise! I just ain't Eoin Colfer!

_Soundtrack_ - Time after Time by Quiet Drive & Fuego by Pitbull. (Guess which couple goes with which song, lol)

_Dedication_ - To rosejack617, for possibly spoiling her softball game, and to Ru-Doragon because no doubt your review for this chapter will be just as pissed-off, and frankly hilarious, as the last one.

* * *

**'Stolen? What has he stolen?'**

**'My one spark of decency.'**

* * *

_She hefted herself on top of him again, pinning his shoulders with her hands. 'No, I don't mean the _lemur_. You'd _told_ me you'd stolen a lemur.'_

_Artemis was getting impatient._

_'Well _what_ then?'_

_She shoved her face down to his._

_'You never told me you'd stolen a _fairy_.'_

Chapter Nine - Daffodils and Picasso

'What?'

'A fairy,' insisted Annie. 'You stole a fairy!'

'What on Earth are you talking about?'

She sprang from him and made for her bag on the other side of the room.

'Callum gave me the video,' she said, ferreting about inside the knapsack. 'His mum was at that Extinctionist thing in Morocco and she told him all about it. One her friends managed to catch a bit of it on camera – thought she could get some money for it from the press.' Annie giggled darkly. 'Apparently all she got was a puncture wound to the leg from a rampaging pygmy-rhino.'

'Aha!' She pulled the tape free. Artemis snatched it from her hand, striding to the computer and loading it quickly into the player.

'Why was Callum's mother at the meeting?' he asked.

Annie shrugged, coming to lean on the back on his chair. 'Cal told me she'd caught herself another rich stiff, a Count this time, really into _killing_ things. Guess she fancied playing along for a little while.'

'_Contessa_ Irina,' murmured Artemis. 'Hmm, that does have something of a ring to it.'

A new window opened on the screen and the video started playing. It was shaky and of terrible quality, but clearly depicted the inside of an opulent dinner chamber. A blurred figure moved just within the focus of the camera.

'_People say that we Extinctionists hate animals. But this is not the case. We do not hate poor dumb animals, rather we love humans_...'

'Kronski,' muttered Artemis.

Annie looked closer at the picture. 'The crazy looking guy?'

'Mhm. A complete lunatic.'

'_Why should humans starve when dumb animals grow fat? Why should humans freeze when beasts lie toasty warm in their coats of fur?'_

'_Really, Doctor Kronski,'_ spoke another figure._ 'I have read several variations on this speech. Every year, it seems, you trot out the same simplistic arguments. Can we please focus on the creature before us tonight?'_

'Who is that?' snapped Artemis.

Annie leant closer, swivelling the chair. 'Pasteur Malachy. He's on the fairy's side.'

Kronski puffed out his chest and bellowed at his audience. '_This is not what we're about, people! We did not travel all this way for some petty verbal sparring. _This _is what the Extinctionists are about.' _The fat Louisianan flung out his arm, pointing to what looked like a child tied to a nursery chair._ 'Ridding our planet of creatures like this.'_

'_There_!' Annie stretched over Artemis's shoulder and jabbed her finger at the screen. 'The fairy!'

The boy beneath her cocked an eyebrow. Annie's so-called "fairy" was female, from what he could tell, and dressed in a full-length abaya. He could not distinguish much else apart from that; she, he or it wasn't in particularly good focus... but wait. Its eyes were moving. Artemis followed their line of sight, watching as the tiny pupils flicked every so often to the man who had spoken second, to that _Pasteur _whoever...

Pasteur slammed his fist to the table. '_But this creature is magical! We have all heard how she can turn invisible. Even now her mouth is taped so she cannot hypnotize us. Imagine the power we could wield if we were to unlock the secrets of these gifts...'_

'That guy is so cool,' whispered Annie. 'I don't know how anyone can say something that mental and still–'

Artemis hushed her impatiently.

'_We have tried to interrogate her. Our best men tried and she told us nothing._'

'_It is difficult to talk with a taped mouth_.'

'Point to Pasteur!'

'Annie, _please_.

The crowd was roaring now. Kronski stood tall before them, his speech finished, his arms outstretched like a royal hailing his people. The camera angle swung erratically as its technician joined the cheering and Annie and Artemis were treated to a rollercoaster view around the room. The stage flashed away to be replaced by a view of the guards positioned on the balcony above, then down to the rattling dinner table, then up to rest briefly on each frenzied Extinctionist face until eventually they were back at the platform where the grim-faced 'fairy' and the mysterious Pasteur were watching the fervour die down in silence.

'_I was hoping to spare you this, Doctor_,' said Pasteur, stepping out from behind the podium. '_Because I respect you so much_.'

'_Spare me what, Master Pasteur?_'

'_You know what. I think you have pulled the wool over everyone's eyes long enough.'_

'_And what wool would that be?' _said Kronski and Artemis together.

'_Are you certain you want me to continue?'_

'He's got him,' whispered Annie. 'Look at him, he's _loving_ it.'

Ten-year-old Artemis was indeed looking. He was watching the expression on Pasteur's face with a sense of deepening unease. It was uncanny, or _unheimlich_ as Freud would have said; he had seen that look before.

'_As you wish,_' continued Pasteur. _'This creature was not our original defendant. Up until yesterday we had a lemur–'_

'Key word – _had_.'

Artemis flung his hand back and clasped it over Annie's mouth.

Pasteur continued. '_I _say_ we had a lemur, but in truth we almost had a lemur. It went missing at the pick-up. Then, and this is important, then we were sold this creature by the _same_ boy who almost sold us the lemur...'_

'What?' breathed Artemis.

'_This boy keeps his lemur and sells us a supposed fairy.'_

Murmurs had broken out amongst the crowd and the screen trembled with the disturbance.

'See?' said Annie, pulling his hand away. 'He said you sold him a fairy.'

Artemis was incredulous. 'I sold him a _lemur,_ certainly. It was a smooth exchange, over in a matter of seconds. I did not, at any point in the proceedings, stop and offer him a _fairy_, or whatever trumped-up hoax is strapped to that chair.'

Annie frowned and both pairs of eyes returned to the screen.

'_Examine the thing yourself_,' Kronski was saying, his tone petulant. '_This is an easy argument to win._'

'_Thank you, Doctor. I believe I shall._'

The younger Artemis bent towards the screen, his whole body tensed. On the one side of it Pasteur was posturing, gesturing to his phone, connecting it with a flourish to the overhead-screen: obviously playing to the crowd. Artemis ignored him. His attentions were fixed on the being in the chair. They were unmoving, their expression guarded.

_I sold you? I sold you to Kronski?_

Its – _no, her, she is definitely female _– hair was a most violent shade of red, stood up in flame-like spikes around a face so small, so... Silver suddenly flashed in his mind – the shine of a torch against a dozen strands of silver around a face so small, so... He blinked, surprised. Then Annie shifted behind him, jostling his seat, and the memory was lost almost as soon as it had come.

On screen Pasteur was building to his final conclusion.

Kronski appeared unimpressed. '_Do you have a point, Pasteur,_' he drawled,_ 'or are you just showing us how clever you are?_'

'_Oh, I have a point Doctor. And the point is that were it not for the wideness of the brow and the pointed ears, this creature would seem remarkably like a little girl._'

'_A pity about the ears and brow. But for them you would have an argument.'_

'_Precisely._' Pasteur moved his phone over the girl's head and on the large view-screen behind him grey shapes could be seen against her skull.

Artemis smirked. 'Implants.'

'_Implants!_' announced a triumphant Pasteur. _'Clearly the result of surgery. This fairy is a clever fake. You have tried to dupe us, Kronski.'_

The room erupted into chaos as the crowd realised they'd been fooled. The camera's poor sound filter was overloaded, the view quickly blocked by dozens of angry bodies. The screen shook, crackled and blacked out.

Silence reigned. After a few brief moments, Annie spoke.

'Well,' she said, 'what do think about that?'

Artemis didn't reply. He got up and turned away from her, pacing the length of his room.

'Artemis?'

He flicked a hand at her, shaking his head.

Annie sighed. The window she'd left open had begun to creak in the evening wind so she walked over and grabbed the handle. She was about to pull it closed when she stopped. The grounds below her were silent; the fountain still, the bushes bird-less, the lawn bereft of the usual, sputtering motor-rumble as the gardener made his last nightly loop of the green. Holly moved to stand beside the girl, following her gaze down to the progress of a lone cat stalking between the eves. The animal stopped, as if startled, and stared up at the window. Its eyes glinted once against the dying light and then it was gone.

'Fairies.'

The girl yanked her arm back and the window slammed shut. 'What about 'em?'

'Well...' said Artemis, 'they don't exist.'

Annie rolled her eyes, giving the latch a final crank. '_Really_? Give that boy a _clap_.'

'The whole idea of one _existing,_ let alone being _sold,_ is entirely ludicrous.'

'And yet, you did it! Typical Fowl.'

'But I _didn't_. That's the point I'm making. I just... but... then why...?'

Annie watched him. She could practically hear the thoughts colliding and fusing inside his head, taking image, taking shape, forming into something... something new – something irreversible.

'But then why do I believe it?' he whispered.

And then his hands were fists and he was striding towards his bookcase. 'Fairies,' he declared, fingers trailing across the spines. 'Sprites, nymphs, dwarves, kelpie, p'shog, ka-dulan, fadas, whichever language you prefer, in whichever country you care to mention; within every story in _every _culture: there are _fairies_.' With one quick pull a book fell free, thin and well worn. He cradled it in his palms. '_The Crock of Gold_. My father used to read it to me as an infant. Up until now I had always considered it a fantasy, but–'

'But what?' interrupted Annie.

'But now I think... oh, I don't know. _Something…_'

The boy began to pace again, head bowed, eyes alight: a tiger in a cage. 'Fairies. _Fairies_. You know, I can't even remember having thought of them even once before but now two _significant _occurrences in less than one week. Strange. Uncanny! My thoughts on waking last Tuesday and now _this_. This... this...'

He trailed off and began to mutter incomprehensibly, eventually lapsing into silence. Annie observed him for a few minutes before growing irritated.

'Art.'

He ignored her.

'_Art_.'

The boy's lips brushed together soundlessly. Annie scowled and walked across the room.

'I'm using your loo, okay? Thanks.'

She walked into the en suite and Holly followed close behind. Once the door was closed the girl leant against it.

'Great,' she huffed, blowing her fringe from her forehead. 'He's off again.'

For a moment she stood there, letting the slight rise in temperature warm her sallow cheeks. It was nice to be still for once in somewhere clean and relatively safe. When she'd first started frequenting the manor it had felt more like a mausoleum – or at least what she imagined visiting a mausoleum would feel like – than a refuge. But now that was just what it was: a part-time sanctuary, ruled over by the strange, crotchety, snobby little boy in the room outside who was her only true friend in the world.

She looked down and noticed the large collection of ties hanging along the towel rack. She walked forward and stroked their still-damp silk. He'd left the bottle of hand-wash beside the sink along with a few sponges and a pair of too-big rubber gloves. The stepladder was still in the shower. She could see the smudged line on the tiling where he had been forced to stop scrubbing due to lack of arm-length.

Annie frowned and left the bathroom. Holly followed her.

'Art.'

The boy was still pacing, as unaware of his immediate surroundings as it was possible to be.

_'Art_!'

The boy started. 'Annie! Annie, are you alright?''

'I'm fine.'

Artemis huffed, his thread of thought cut and dissipated.

'I just saw the bathroom.' Annie gestured with her thumb over one shoulder. 'It's very clean. You've done a good job.'

Artemis stared at her. 'Thank you,' he said eventually, forcing himself to remain civil. 'I worked hard at it, but please, Annie, could you just leave me to my thoughts for a moment?'

She shrugged. 'Yeah, I just wondered if you, y'know, wanted to talk about it or something?'

'The bathroom? Do I want to talk about my bathroom?'

Annie cocked an eyebrow and the boy sighed.

'Look,' he said, kneading his forehead. 'I... I _don't_ want to talk about it, alright?'

'How's your mum?'

'I said I don't want to talk about it.'

'So she's worse, then.'

He didn't reply and they lapsed into a somewhat painful silence, until–

'Yes, she's _worse_.' Holly flinched. 'Of _course_ she's worse. _He's_ not here, is he? So how _could_ she be better?'

Annie blinked. She hadn't meant to get him angry. 'But,' she said, braving out Artemis's now poisonous expression, 'you said the doctors–'

'They've stopped coming.'

'Well… they must have prescribed something?'

'Diazepam and bed rest. Hardly ground-breaking treatment.'

The girl shut her mouth again. Artemis's eyes were tempered steel, his knuckles protruding like marbles beneath tissue paper. He glared at her from his spot of the carpet. Then, with all thoughts of fairies well and truly flown from his mind, he stalked over to his desk and sat down with his back to her.

Annie fidgeted with the hem of her t-shirt. 'Art...?'

He didn't answer for a long moment, and when he did his voice was thick and petulant. _'What_?'

'Are you alright?'

Holly saw Artemis' chin begin to tremble. There were a few more seconds of stillness and then Artemis slumped forward. Annie was immediately around him.

_'No_,' sobbed the boy, 'I am not_ alright_. I have a mother who's crazy, a family estate I've had to re_-_mortgage, eight more employees who need firing because I can't afford to pay them…' He drew a shaky breath. 'Butler will soon be the only lucid adult left in the house, and he has already taken on so much outside of his usual duties. Cooking, cleaning, washing _my_ clothes... He hasn't been paid in over three months; he shouldn't still be here. That's why…' He gestured weakly towards the bathroom door. 'I couldn't have him doing _that_ for me also. I have been _trying_ to help, but... '

For a moment he sank lower in his chair, but then he lashed out at the desk, striking it with the heel of his palm.

'What about the lemur money?'

'I've had to put that into funding the arctic expeditions. I'm putting in everything I've got.'

Annie froze. 'Arctic expeditions? What arctic expeditions?'

'I am sending out teams to look for Father.'

'To... to make sure he's dead?'

Artemis shook his head. 'No. To try and bring him back.'

Annie released him. She stared at him, her mouth open, her expression appalled. It took her a few seconds before she could bring herself to speak. 'Bring...? _Bring him back?_' Artemis stood up, sniffing heavily._ '_What do you mean _bring him back?_'

He didn't reply. He walked over to the bureau and pulled a clean handkerchief from a drawer.

'Come on, _genius_!' shouted Annie. '_Explain_ it to me!'

'Because –'

'_Speak up!_'

He rounded on her. 'Because I am not enough for her!'

Holly closed her eyes.

'Because I have _never_ been enough for her! She only ever loved me as a part of _him_. Artemis Fowl the _Second_. Her own _noxious_, _demon_ of a son who decided to try his hand at patricide because of a few _issues_ –_'_

Annie's expression hardened. 'He was a _murderer_, Artemis.'

'And what exactly am _I, _Anne? He was my _father_! And I _killed_ him! I could have done something. I could have stopped him, spoken to him about his dealings. I didn't have to resort to what I did.'

Annie clenched her fists. 'You couldn't have done _anything_! Don't you remember what he was _like_?'

He scowled. 'Why are you saying this? _You _were the one trying to stop me in the first place.'

'_Yeah_. Because I was worried about _you_. Not because I wanted him to _live_.' The last word was spoken with disgust – as if the mere thought of a breathing Artemis Senior brought a bad taste to her mouth.

Artemis's limbs were shaking, struggling to keep any semblance of composure. Holly could feel his emotions: his confusion, his anger; they reached out to her like stray flames from a bonfire. 'The facts of the matter remain,' he said eventually. 'My mother will never be well without him, and besides... I promised her that I would find him.'

Annie sniffed and wiped her sleeve roughly across her face. 'Then you were _stupid_,' she spat. 'Really _stupid_.'

Holly caught one last glimpse of her tear-stained face before the room began to fade.

* * *

Four concrete walls, a bed and a door.

That was all there was.

It was the most unremarkable place Holly had so far visited, so grey and small, but it stirred a deep fear within her breast. She could feel it, the panic of being in that room, the place of so many lingering nightmares.

'Well,' said the girl who stood beside the cot. 'You've done it now.'

The boy did not reply; he stayed where he was, his lips shut tight, his forehead pressed to the wall. The third figure in the room slept on, their brow pinched with some unconscious discomfort. The girl reached out to touch.

'Don't!'

Annie started. Artemis's thin fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist.

'I thought you said it was sedated?'

'She is, just... don't touch her.'

Artemis let her arm drop and retreated back to the wall.

'Her?'

'Yes. Her name's Holly. Holly Short.'

Annie opened her mouth to ask but Artemis waved a hand over his shoulder. 'She's wearing a name tag.'

The girl looked back to the bed. 'It's the fairy from the tape.'

'We can't be sure of that. The tape was of such poor quality–'

The elf moaned and both children froze, alarmed... but she merely twitched a hand before lying still again.

Annie remained stricken. 'What about its magic? It's not about to wake up and melt us, is it?'

Artemis snorted and turned away from the concrete. '_Melt _us? She's not a _witch_, Ann.'

'Well I don't know, do I? I don't know what the _fuck_ it is!'

'She's an elf, capable of hypnosis, healing, and high-speed vibration. She does _not_,' Artemis chuckled again, 'retain enough power to _melt _anyone. In fact, she doesn't have enough power to do _anything_ at the moment. I took her just as she was about to complete a ritual that would restore her magic.'

'The acorn thing?'

'Yes, the "acorn thing."'

'Right... well... that's alright then.'

Annie looked back to the bed just as the humour deserted Artemis's face. She glanced up again sharply. 'You said healing.'

Her dark eyes seemed huge ringed by the eyeliner she had so recently taken to wearing, and they took Artemis off guard.

'I...' He shook his head. 'Sorry, what did you say?'

_'Healing_. You said it could heal things. Why not get it to heal your mum?'

Artemis sighed. 'Yes, the obvious solution. Here, in my house, a creature capable of doing what all the doctors have failed to do. What _I_ have failed to do.'

'So why not just get it to do it?'

'It wouldn't work. Fairies can only perform healings of their own free will.' His lips pulled up into an ironical smile. 'And I highly doubt when it, _she_, does wake up, she'll be in any particular mood to help me.'

'And _why _can't you force it? I thought you said they had to follow orders inside the house of a human?'

Artemis's smile dropped.

'Just _tell_ it to heal her! Or, or get Butler to smash it about a bit! I'm sure it'd be more willing _then_.'

'I have already _told_ you it is not that simple! If it were, she would be in the attic already and I would be carrying out the smashing _myself_! I cannot _force _her to use her magic, even under her own laws. It must be done _willingly_, and Butler standing over her brandishing God knows what would not count as _willingly_. And anyway, how could I risk her running around the house up to her ears in magic? She is strong enough and _dangerous _enough already without the aid of supernatural powers–'

There was a bang from above and the sound of distant footsteps.

'Butler,' whispered Artemis, his face filling with dread. 'He must have returned from his checks of the grounds. My God. They could be here already.' He looked at Annie. 'You need to leave, _now_.'

She seized his hands, her nails digging into his skin. 'Artemis.'

'Annie, we don't have–'

'_Look at me!_ Artemis... are you _sure _about this?'

'As you said, "I've done it now." What am I supposed to do? Just put her back where I found her?'

'Well, if you _could _just put her back.'

'I cannot. Her people are coming.'

He turned once more to the door but Annie yanked him to her.

'I don't want to leave you,' she said. 'I _can't.'_

Artemis pushed her away. 'You can and you _will_. What use do you think you would be to me here? I shall tell you: none. You will leave this house and I shall see you Friday evening, as scheduled.'

She knew he was being cold on purpose. She knew it was only because he was scared, because he wanted to protect her. But it still hurt.

'_Give it the acorn_,' she pleaded. 'I know you can't force it to use magic but it'd still be handy to have something that _could _heal, _might_ heal, in case something happened.'

'Nothing is going to happen,' he said firmly. Annie shook her head, tears brimming. He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. '_Nothing is going to happen_.'

There was another thump from above them and a gruff, muffled call.

'He's looking for me,' whispered Artemis, blue eyes raised to the ceiling. 'I must go before he comes down here. It is only a matter of time until he realises the cameras are looped. Wait here. I shall clear the way for you to leave.'

'_Artemis_–'

'Wait _here_.'

He disappeared, the steel door clanging behind him.

Holly and Annie were left in silence. For a few seconds they just stared at spot where the boy had departed, but then they turned, as one, to face the sleeping figure on the bed. Annie hesitated before taking the few short steps to the cot side.

'Hello,' she whispered. 'Hello... Holly.'

The elf didn't reply, merely slept on. The girl crouched down onto her haunches.

'My name's Annie,' she said. 'Annie Shinner... but I won't be called that forever.'

More noises came from above and Annie and Holly froze.

'Hopefully.' The girl swallowed and looked back to the elf. 'Y'know you're quite pretty, Holly. In a... weird sort of way. I bet Art gets it. He thinks lots of things are pretty that I think are weird. Like daffodils and Picasso.'

The elf on the cot mumbled something and the girl reared back. She watched as the fairy's legs twitched.

'Something up with your foot?' asked Annie. She got up and hesitantly bent over the cot. 'If it's your shoes I can't help you there, you're just going to have to–'

She stopped suddenly, noticing something on the mattress.

Behind her, Holly Short's eyes widened to the size of kettledrums.

Annie's hand dropped to the bed and picked up the object that had fallen free from the Captain's boot. She rolled it in her palm, her pulse pounding in her ears. She clasped it in her hand. She should take it away, Artemis was right; it was too dangerous to let the fairy have it. She was going to put it in her pocket... Wasn't she? She opened her palm again.

There was another noise from above and she almost dropped the object back to mattress. There were voices, then footsteps. They were coming closer, heading towards the cell.

'Oh, fuck,' she breathed. Her whole body was shaking.

If she gave it to the fairy it would get magic. Wouldn't it? It had to bury it, wasn't that the rule? And if it had magic, it could heal people. It could heal Art's mum! Then he could stop with all the crazy schemes and his father could stay dead, or missing, or whatever he was and everything would be fine. Wouldn't it?

The steps were getting closer, louder.

'_Fuck_. Fuck, fuck, fuckitty, _fuck-fuck-fuck_.'

Annie closed her eyes, half screamed, and dived for the cot, stuffing the acorn down the side of the elf's boot. She jabbed at it with the tips of her fingers, making sure to lodge it right down beside the fairy's ankle: right where Artemis would never find it.

She lurched backwards. 'You better not let me regret this,' she growled at the elf, pressing herself to the wall.

The door opened outwards.

'Annie?' hissed a voice. 'Annie, _come on_!'

Annie sighed, relief flooding her chest, and reached for the hand extended to her.

'I thought you were Butler,' she said. 'I thought I was for it.'

'I've sent him to check on Mother,' replied the harried-looking Artemis, 'and Juliet's busy in the weapons hold. We've got about _ten minutes_ to get you out of here.'

He dragged her out of the stairwell and into the main hall, his pale face flushed. They bolted down a side passage and eventually reached a deserted kitchen with Holly close on their heels.

'There,' he gasped, pointing to a thin, moonlit window at the top of the wall. 'Go through there. There will be no cameras to track you that way.'

Annie wasted no time in hefting herself atop the workbench, her untied trainers scuffing against the wood. She reached up towards the windowsill.

'Annie!'

The girl looked round.

Artemis's eyes were glassy, his breath unsteady. Immediately she was down again, grasping him tightly in her arms, feeling his own, weedy limbs grip around her back. They swayed on the spot, both their eyes shut tight.

'You're going to be fine,' she whispered, thinking of boots and acorns. 'Just fine.'

'Am I?'

She broke away from him, her expression stern. 'Buck up. You've made your bed and now you've gotta lie in it. You're Artemis Fowl fer feck's sake! Nothing can _touch _you.'

This seemed to stir something in him and the twelve-year-old drew himself up, his hands clenching into fists.

'Yes,' he said. 'Yes, you are right.'

She levered herself back up onto the counter.

'Annie.'

She looked down.

The boy hesitated. 'One last thing. The gardener's cat, Constance… It refused to leave when its master's employment was terminated and likes to play about the mulberry bushes at this time of night. If you see it, would you mind taking it with you when you leave the grounds? I wouldn't want it to be... well. Would you?'

'Sure,' replied the girl. 'Yeah, I'll do that.'

'Thank you.'

They looked at each other a short while longer before Annie's arms drew taught and she pulled herself through the window, disappearing into the night.

Holly disappeared too.

* * *

_'Terribly sorry,' said Butler, his voice as deep and threatening as the thunder outside. 'Not interrupting anything, am I?'_

Artemis's brain was numb. He gaped at his manservant, his mind a single line of static. He remained where he was, his spine arched backwards, his right knee clasped between the legs of the boy opposite.

Said boy raised a thin eyebrow. 'Well, yes,' drawled Tuley, 'you are rather.'

His words shot a spark into Artemis's consciousness. Tuley's hips, hands, legs were suddenly brands against his skin. He pushed them away.

'Butler,' he blurted. 'You weren't supposed to be here for another ten minutes.'

'I know,' replied the manservant. 'I thought I'd surprise you.'

Tuley's lip curled. He was unused to being out of the loop. 'Art?' he prompted in cool, clipped tones. 'Who is this?'

Butler glanced at the figure beside his charge. He was older than Artemis, that was clear, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years of age. He was taller too, with thick yellow hair and eyes the colour of seaweed. His clothes were expensive but rumpled. There were red smudges along his jaw line, and finger-marks on his neck, but apart from those little imperfections he could easily just have stepped from the centre pages of _GQ_.

For a moment Artemis simply stared at Tuley, but then he coughed into his fist. 'Er, of course. Tuley,' he said, 'this is my bodyguard, Butler. Butler, may I introduce to you Master Toulouse Brannagh.'

The blonde boy's gaze raked up Butler's frame in a way that wasn't quite decent. 'A pleasure,' he murmured softly.

Butler didn't reply. He knew of the Brannaghs; who hadn't in his line of business? They were a family entrenched in crime, their whole history consisted of it. No doubt that this teenage yuppie was already a part of the legacy.

Artemis fought the urge to curl up on the floor and die quietly.

'He's a tad smaller than you described, Art,' said Tuley, still blatantly eyeing Butler. 'And I expected someone rougher, not quite so refined.'

Butler's brow twitched. _Excuse me?_

Artemis strove to remain calm. 'I am sorry to disappoint you.'

'On the contrary,' replied the boy. 'I'm impressed. He looks like a man of many talents. Perhaps I shall have to borrow him.' Tuley's eyes flickered to Artemis and his tongue flashed briefly across his teeth.

'Butler,' Artemis snapped. 'Go and wait for me in the car. I have a little further business to conclude with Master Brannagh here.'

Moving away was the last thing Butler felt like doing. The blonde boy was smirking from behind Artemis with a look that reminded Butler very much of Artemis himself, once upon a time. There was the same arrogance, the same unwavering _control_.

'Butler,' repeated Artemis. 'I told you to _leave_.'

They stared at each other, locked in silent conversation. Butler was the first to break eye contact. 'If I don't see you in ten minutes, I'm coming back.' Artemis nodded, and after one last loaded look Butler disappeared up the corridor.

'_Finally_,' sighed Tuley. He grabbed Artemis's shoulders and drove him backwards. Artemis twisted out of his grip, and surprise flashed across Tuley's face before he was slammed back into the wall. Tuley frowned and tried to get up, but Artemis only rammed him back.

'Alright,' chuckled the elder boy, holding his hands in the air. 'Alright.'

Artemis stepped away and Tuley levered himself slowly upright.

'I want you to inform me if there are any more developments with this _Neck_ person,' said Artemis. 'Call me, email me. If we are to meet, then I shall arrange the place and the time, is that clear?'

Tuley's expression darkened. 'You forget yourself, Artemis.'

'Do I?' Something was stirring in the depths of the younger boy's eyes, something that had so long been slumbering. 'Tell me, Tuley, what is it exactly that I have forgotten?'

Tuley hissed. 'Your _place_.'

'I am a _Fowl_.' The name echoed up the corridor. 'Not some lowborn journeyman who fancies himself important. You think you have power because of the cheap pistol stuffed under your arm. _I _have power because I was _born _with it.' Artemis's lips parted to show gleaming teeth. 'I was once heir to something so much more than a _house_, Tuley, and _you _would do well to remember it.'

Tuley didn't reply. Artemis pulled on his jacket to straighten it and turned up the corridor. He took a few paces before turning back.

'Oh, and Tuley?' The elder boy looked up. 'Don't ever let me catch you looking at my manservant in that _vile_ way again because if I do… well, I'll leave it up to your imagination.'

Tuley lips twitched into a smile. 'Duly noted.'

* * *

Artemis slammed the door of the jeep shut, strapping his seatbelt quickly across himself and sweeping back his rain-sodden fringe. Butler sat motionless beside him.

'I'm waiting.'

'Can't this wait until we are home? We are both sopping–'

'_Now_, Artemis.'

The rain drummed on the roof of the Land Rover.

'He is a friend,' said Artemis. 'I invited him to discuss some business.'

'Business?'

'Yes.'

'What business?'

'Information. Now, are you actually going to start the car or shall we be remaining here all evening?'

Butler twisted the key in the ignition and the jeep roared to life. 'I still want more from you, Artemis.'

The teenager looked to the window, following the progress of single raindrop as it dripped down the pane. Outside, the school was rolling from sight.

_What can I tell him? _

He decided, for once, on the truth.

'I met him eleven years ago when Father and I visited their house on an errand. Father was in need of Sheila Brannagh's… unique services, and Tuley was charged with my entertainment while the adults talked.'

Butler frowned. There were precious few times in Artemis's childhood when the bodyguard hadn't been by the boy's side. However, especially in the few years prior to the Fowl Star incident, Artemis Senior had been prone to take his son on 'special errands' without Butler's accompaniment. Angeline Fowl had been the catalyst for these trips, encouraging her husband to bond with their son without the ever-looming presence of a bodyguard. And so the outings had quickly become a routine, and Artemis would always return from them graver, and less child-like, than he had left.

'We haven't seen each other for years,' continued Artemis. 'Not since before I stole the fairy thief.'

_And at the party on Saturday_, thought Butler. 'So why meet today?'

'I have told you. I was in need of information.'

'What information?'

'That is none of your concern.'

'It is my concern if you are putting yourself in danger.'

Artemis snorted. 'Butler, please. It was a simple meeting between friends.'

'Friends don't kiss each other, Artemis.'

The car fell silent but for the grumble of the thunder outside.

Artemis's reply was quiet. 'Now that is _certainly _none of your business.'

'I don't have a problem with you seeing people,' said the manservant, keeping his eyes straight ahead. 'I do, however, have a problem when you do it in _secret_ and with _trained hit-men_.'

'You don't understand.'

'Oh, don't I? I understand that you met with him at the party on Saturday. Him and others.'

Artemis's brow contracted. 'How–?' Lightning flashed through the windscreen. 'He spoke with you, didn't he?' whispered Artemis. 'My father spoke with you on Saturday after he had spoken to me.'

'He told me you had confessed to meeting with criminals, that you were reforming old links.'

'And you _believed_ him?'

Butler was incredulous. 'What was I supposed to think, Artemis? I see you on Saturday night acting completely out of character, asking to be left alone one minute and then haring around the corridors the next. We come home and you offer no explanation, only a slammed door in my face. And then today! I arrive at your school to find you wrapped around a _Brannagh_ –!'

'Assume I'm rebuilding a criminal empire, of course,' said Artemis. 'It's the only possible explanation. Three days of acting like the _normal _teenager my mother so ardently wishes I were and immediately I'm under suspicion. Am I under surveillance, too? Did Father ask you to spy on me?'

Butler didn't answer. Artemis turned his head back to the window. 'Unbelievable. When were you planning to –?'

Something began to vibrate against his thigh. Artemis ripped the phone from his blazer pocket and put it to his ear.

'What?'

'Ah, Art, it's good to hear your voice again.'

Artemis frowned. 'I thought I had made my position clear to you, Tuley. If you do not have more information –'

'Oh, come now. Let us forget business. I have only a simple question.'

'Tuley –'

'What sort of currency is this coin?'

'Excuse me?'

'This coin of yours. I can't for the life of me figure out what it is. Is it Malaysian? It looks most likely to be Asian...'

_Coin? _thought Artemis. _What is this lunacy–? _

His hand flew to his chest. He patted his shirt once, twice. There was nothing there. He jammed the phone back against his cheek. 'Tuley, what have you done with it?'

Butler registered the change in Artemis's voice and glanced sideways. A low chuckle sounded from the phone's speaker.

_'Calma_, _Éanlaithe_. It is safe here in my hand. But who was it that gave it to you for you to keep it on a string so close to your heart?'

'Tuley, if you so much as –'

'A sweetheart perhaps? That _special_ someone?'

Artemis felt pressure building behind his brow.

_I have challenged him. This is his reaction._

He took a shaky breath. 'Yes, someone special.'

'Who?'

'Return it and I shall tell you.'

'Maybe you are lying to me, Art. Perhaps this is simply a horcrux in which to hide your shattered soul?'

'A whore's _crutch_?'

'Horcrux,' corrected Tuley, 'with an 'X.' Enchanted spirit-casket as opposed to leg-support for a prostitute.'

Artemis rubbed at his temple. 'I want it back, Tuley.'

'But why? There's a hole punched straight through the middle. Is this a symbol for something, Art? Did they punch a hole through you?'

_He's never going to return it_, Artemis realised._ Not after what I said. Not without maiming it in some way first, and that would defeat its purpose._

He closed his eyes and for some reason felt the sudden urge to laugh. This day was turning out to be some sort of surreal dream. His pulse was racing in his chest. Wasn't this how his life had once been? Never the mild homoeroticism of course, but the excitement, the _risk_. The games. How long had it been since he had felt this way?

Artemis put the phone back to his ear and smiled. 'Was there anything else, Tuley?'

'No, I shouldn't think so. Only that next time we meet I shall want much more than a coin.'

'Duly noted. Good evening, Tuley.'

Artemis snapped the phone shut and burst into laughter. This took Butler so off guard that he nearly steered the jeep into on-coming traffic. A lorry horn bellowed at him and he quickly pulled back into the correct lane.

'Artemis, are you alright?' demanded Butler.

Artemis's eyes were alight. 'I'm fine.'

'What did the Brannagh boy want?'

'Information on something he has stolen from me.'

'Stolen? What has he stolen?'

Artemis's grin widened. He sat back in his seat, his spine sinking into the custom leather. 'My one spark of decency.'

* * *

**A/N: Now why on Earth did Eoin create Minerva when he could have had the fun of writing someone like Tuley?**

**In the next chapter it's back to Holly and a healthy dollop of Trouble, but not before Artemis hears something of the truth.**

**Now ****please review, guys. **

**You know you want to.**


	10. Chapter 10 Slipping

A/N: S'up people. I shouldn't be posting this, I should be preparing a presentation on sixteenth-century German witchcraft trials but hey, I suck.

Cheers to Snakequeen-in-Norway for beta-ing this story - you should all go check out her story 'Road to Recovery' (though I'm guessing most of you already have) once you're done here, because it's awesome :)

But yes, here it is, chapter ten.

* * *

Soundtrack: 'Missing' by Flyleaf

Disclaimer: Why does anyone bother with this?

* * *

_**'She is not a story, Commander. She was Artemis's most persistent imagining: the figure of a young girl stood in the corner of the room – burning.'**_

* * *

Chapter 10 - Slipping

The rain soon slackened off and drifted farther west, staining the horizon an angry fuchsia and shielding the winter sunset from sight. It was growing darker and colder. The wind was threatening in the trees. And beneath them, a rain-streaked Land Rover drove on into the night.

'What do you want me to tell your father?' asked Butler, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. 'He'll be asking for my first report soon.'

Artemis didn't answer. He was tapping his phone slowly against his lips, his eyes lost in shadow.

'Artemis?'

The teenager drew a sharp breath. 'Sorry, what did you say?'

Butler frowned. 'I said that your father will want to know what you've been up to. I'll only tell him what you want me to.'

_He is making a peace offering_. _He feels he has betrayed me by agreeing to this arrangement with Father and so he is giving me back control._

'Tell him what you like,' said the teenager, turning his head back towards the window. 'It is no concern of mine.'

Butler's expression became strained. 'It is your _every _business, Artemis. My loyalty lies with you.'

The teenager snorted softly. 'Clearly...'

The instant they pulled up outside Fowl Manor Artemis got out of the car. He strode up the main steps and through the open doors, bypassing a waiting footman without a word. He crossed the entrance hall and mounted the main stairs, climbing two flights and traversing a corridor before reaching the doors to his bedroom. He flung them wide. The maid had already been in to draw the curtains and light the fire, making the room dark but very warm – just how the young master liked it. A fresh pot of tea was waiting for him on a table beside the hearth and clean clothes had been laid out on the bed.

Artemis walked over to them. 'Exquisite,' he muttered, studying a yellow, cotton T-shirt with the legend "RANDOMOSITY" emblazoned across the chest. 'Does she seriously think I'll wear this now I'm mentally stable?'

Butler appeared in the open doorway. 'It's Tuesday, Artemis,' he said quietly, 'casual day.'

'Casual day?' The teenager sneered and went back to inspecting the remainder of his clothes. 'What shall the next shirt read I wonder? "My mother was possessed by Opal Koboi and all I got was this stupid mental disease"?'

Butler's eyes narrowed but he remained silent.

The teenager turned from the bed and began pouring his tea, adding sugar, then milk, and stirring with a silver cutty. He tapped the spoon delicately against the rim. 'You are dismissed.'

The manservant remained where he was, glaring at the dark silhouette of his principle's head. He needed to say something, he _would _say something. 'Artemis–'

'Butler.' The teenager's interruption was quiet but firm. 'You are _dismissed_.'

Silence fell again.

'Yes, Artemis.'

Artemis waited for the click of the door before closing his eyes.

_Alone._

The flames from the hearth flickered behind his eyelids.

_Alone at last._

'_Not ashamed are you, Art?'_

'_Ashamed?'_

His brow contracted.

'_Of fraternising with a known criminal,_seducing _me like you did...and just when you'd been so _good_.'_

His eyes opened and the crackle of the flames returned to his ears.

_Tuley_.

He seated himself in the chair beside the hearth, his calm rankled. But it wasn't long before his eyes slipped closed again.

Holly Short smiled down at him. '_You did some bad things, Artemis. But you wouldn't do them again. Let them go.'_

'_Really? You can just let things go?'_

Then Artemis Senior's face was in front of hers. '_Wake up, boy!' _it bellowed. _'Our family has spent the best part of eight centuries building the Fowl name to be one associated with felony and corruption! It is not something easily renounced in six years!'_

There was a muted smash as the tea-cup fell to the floor. The teenager's hands were trembling, his breath quickened in his chest. For a moment the face lingered and then – 'Get a hold of yourself,' he snapped. 'Look at you. Insensible fool…'

He reached toward the broken china when yet another voice spoke.

'_Come here, my hero.'_

He felt the warmth of his mother's arms as they folded around him.

'_You have done so much. Risked everything.'_

'_I didn't do so much, Mum–'_

The embrace vanished.

'_People are afraid of you.'_

Artemis flinched, his hand retracting.

'_You're a fifteen-year-old in a bespoke suit, and nobody died.'_

Then another face appeared, bright eyed and dark haired. It was on fire.

He sat up sharply.

'Stop it,' he said firmly. 'Just stop it_._'

He forced his brain to focus on something else. What was it he needed? He felt the cold, tea-sodden material of his trousers. Yes, some new clothes.

But he had taken only a few steps towards his wardrobe when the voices started again.

'_Promise me you'll use them.'_

'_What are they?'_

'_Promise me, honey.'_

The bed caught in the corner of his eye.

'_You promised, Arty._'

He crossed the room, stripping in same the motion, ripping his school shirt over his head and kicking off his sodden trousers. The t-shirt lay before him on the bed, crumpled and toxic in colour. He snatched it up and jammed it over his head. Next he pulled on the jeans, struggling to get them on over his still-damp legs.

He stared into the mirror.

The t-shirt was baggy and the neckline stretched, showing far more of his throat and collar-bone than he would usually have preferred. The jeans were tight, emphasizing how thin his legs were, but bunched with material at the ankles, betraying how short he was. His hair, usually so neat and calm, had been roughed in the process of yanking on the shirt causing thick black spikes to protrude from his scalp like loose feathers from a crow's nest.

_Is this really how Mother wishes I looked?_

He twisted to view himself in profile before facing the mirror straight on again. He tilted his chin, only to find Tuley's finger marks still plainly visible against the underside of his jaw. He stroked at them grimly.

_Probably not._

With an unpleasant jolt he realised that Butler must have noticed the marks as well. He quickly withdrew his hand.

'Normal,' he spat angrily. 'What does anyone in this house know about _normal_?'

He met his reflection's eyes.

'I shall never be normal.'

He glared at the mirror for a moment more and then, with an incredulous snort, tore the T-shirt over his head and hurled it across the room.

It flew, high and far, and landed straight in the flames of the fireplace.

The shirt burnt with demon-like speed, the "S" in "Randomosity" swiftly becoming a molten hole. He watched as the flames spread, consuming hem, collar and sleeve, the three-fingered figure finally melting out of all recognition.

He could smell it now. The unnatural smoke: a sharp twist to the usual, comforting smell of wood-burn.

'_You promised,_' whispered the voice in his mind.

He walked slowly closer to the fireside.

_I promised._

He looked into the flames.

_I promised to wear them and use them._

He hesitated before snatching up a long poker from the stand beside the hearth.

'I _have_ worn them,' he said, jabbing the rod into the fire, helping the last scrap of yellow to ignite. 'And now… I am using them.'

* * *

_Buzzzz._

Holly woke.

_Buzzzz._

She lay there, on her back, eyes open.

_Buzzzz._

Her ankle was tingling.

_Buzzzz._

Her communicator was vibrating atop her coffee table, slowly jittering its way to the edge. She reached out and picked it up.

'Hello?'

'Holly, it's Trouble.'

'Oh.'

'Look, I know you probably don't want to see me right now but I've got news about your suspension and I thought I'd better deliver it in person. Will you let me round?'

She glanced about her apartment. It was a domestic bomb site.

'Yeah.'

'Can I come now?'

'…Yeah.'

'I'll be there in two minutes.'

The communicator cut off with a snap.

So it was Annie who had given her the acorn; Annie, who had been well aware of Holly's existence almost a decade before Holly had become aware of hers; Annie, who was well aware of fairies.

Another one of Artemis's dirty little secrets.

Holly sat up slowly. She looked down and, after a brief pause, touched a finger to her ankle.

LEP boots were tight. They were designed for combat, sealed, water-tight. Things didn't just fall down them – certainly not things as big as acorns.

A tendril of cold stroked back at her finger and she swiftly retracted her hand.

'Holly!' Trouble's voice squawked from her intercom. 'Holly!'

For a moment she remained there, staring at her ankle.

'_Holly!_'

She struggled from her bed, jamming on a nearby hoodie to cover her night vest. She punched her fist against the release button and heard Trouble's heavy footfalls on the stairs. Leaving the door open she sat back down on her futon, making no effort to straighten the sheets. When Trouble finally arrived she just sat there, her arms clasped around her legs.

'Hi,' she said quietly.

Trouble just stood there for a moment, framed in the doorway. His eyes took in the unmade bed and the dirty crockery on almost every surface. 'Holy shit, Holly,' he said, almost with awe. 'This place is a tip.'

She didn't answer for a moment, and then – 'I thought you had something to tell me?'

He tore his eyes away from a take-away tray that had nearly been completely colonised by some new form of fungi and finally stepped into the room. 'Yes I… I managed to get the council to give you a full hearing. It's this weekend. Saturday.'

Something whispered in Holly's ear.

'I won't be here Saturday.'

The commander frowned. 'I'm sorry?'

'I… I won't be here, Saturday.'

'You're under orders to stay in this house, Captain, until a verdict is delivered. Where else do you think you'll be?'

Holly didn't answer.

'Holly?'

Trouble's eyes narrowed. He had seen Holly in some states over the decades he'd known her – from drunk to mortally injured – but this… this was different.

'Holly?'

Her head drooped and her shoulders tipped slightly to the side. He walked closer.

'Holly, look at me.'

Two brown eyes stared up at him. He blinked, and they were mismatched again. Then the elf looked away. She sat there for a moment, completely still, staring at the wall, before giving her head a shake and looking up once again at Trouble. 'Frond, look at me,' she said quietly. 'What am I doing? D'arvit. I shouldn't have let you in here.'

Trouble stepped back as she got off the bed.

'I'm sorry, Trouble,' she said. 'You should leave.'

'Holly–'

'You should go.'

Trouble's mouth was hanging slightly open. 'Holly, what–?'

'_Now.'_

He walked back across the room. Holly followed him, and when he reached the hall, shut the door on his back. He turned to look briefly at the faux-wood.

_Holly…?_

A deep unease was settling in his chest. What was wrong with her? And those _eyes_: those two brown eyes staring out of Holly Short's face.

Where had he seen those eyes before…?

* * *

Two months previously

The nurse rapped her knuckles against the plexi-wood.

'Come in.'

Pneumatic seals hissed and Doctor Argon looked up from his notes, peering at the doorway over gold-rimmed bifocals.

'Yes?'

'The Commander is here to see you, Doctor.'

'Oh. Thank you, Nurse Ratchett. Send him in.'

The pixie stood back, revealing a fully-uniformed Trouble Kelp.

'Commander Kelp,' greeted the gnome, getting to his feet and extending a hand, 'right on time.'

Trouble grunted and took the palm he'd been offered. The nurse closed the door softly behind him.

'Sit, please,' insisted Argon, gesturing to a low chaise longue.

Trouble raised his eyebrows. 'I didn't come here for a session, Argon. Haven't you got anything normal I can sit on?'

'Well, I suppose I could get one of the orderlies to fetch you a chair from the visitors lounge, but we do tend to keep those bolted down...'

Trouble snorted and shook his head. 'Don't bother then. I'll take the couch.'

A smile sprang back onto the doctor's face. 'Splendid! Young Artemis was the last person to sit on that couch. Although he did take up a little more of the cushion, I must admit.'

Trouble looked up. 'Fowl?'

'Yes, Artemis.'

'You're still seeing him?'

'We have our consultations, yes.'

'What about?'

Argon raised an eyebrow. 'You know that's confidential information, Commander. Artemis is one of my patients. I cannot go bandying about his innermost thoughts to just anyone you know.'

Trouble raised an eyebrow of his own. 'As if you're not going to publish his every word the instant he's out of here.'

Argon shuffled some notes beneath him. 'Wrong, actually,' he said lightly. 'It was a part of the deal when I admitted him to this hospital; I had to sign a contract agreeing not to publish a biography until after the event of his death. Otherwise, he would have transferred straight into that cretin Cumulus's care and... well… it was a sacrifice worth making shall we say.'

Trouble snorted. 'Typical Fowl, scheming even against his own shrink.'

'Yes,' agreed Argon, 'at times Orion can seem like a little light relief. But I'm not sure Captain Short would agree.' He chuckled gently.

'Holly?'

'Hmm, yes, Captain Short. We've become somewhat acquainted over the last few months. Though I suppose it would have been strange if we hadn't; she's here almost constantly after all.'

The Commander leant forward, his expression sobering. 'I know. And that's part of the reason I came down here today. I want my officer back, Argon. As you said, it's been months. The media surge died down weeks ago. He can't need a 24-hour guard.'

Argon shrugged. 'It was you who instated the guard in the first place, Commander. I think your exact words were… Ah, yes, I've got them written here funnily enough: "I want someone watching him around the clock, neutrino primed and ready to blast. If he so much as _breathes _in the wrong way, you fire. A sane Fowl was dangerous enough; an _insane _one could just well kill us all."' The doctor raised his eyes. 'You may have _your_officer back, Commander, any time you wish.'

Trouble sat back again, disgruntled. 'I suppose I could just get someone else to watch Fowl. Take Holly off-duty.'

Argon shrugged again. 'Entirely your decision, Commander. But I shall say this: Artemis Fowl is no danger to anyone right now, under this Earth or above it.'

'What?'

There was a sudden beeping noise from Argon's belt.

'Time for my rounds,' he announced, standing and reaching for a lab-coat pegged on a nearby stand. 'Sorry, Commander, but you'll have to excuse me…'

Trouble got to his feet too. 'What do you mean? What do you mean he's no danger to anyone?'

Argon looked at him. 'Just that, Commander. Artemis Fowl couldn't hurt a tunnel-mite, not even if he wanted to.'

'I don't believe you. Artemis Fowl will always be a danger.'

The doctor smiled and patted the digi-pen tucked snugly into his top pocket. 'Follow me, Commander,' he said, releasing the door seals. 'Let's see if we can't change your mind.'

* * *

It was lights out at the clinic and most of the patients had dropped off several hours ago into deep, healing sleeps. Of course there were some exceptions. A number of the patients were bucking and screaming in their beds, multiple orderlies desperately attempting to restrain them.

Trouble passed these rooms with wary eyes, their shadows mirrored back to him in the one-way glass. Argon didn't comment, simply stopped to check the charts at their doors and scribble something on his digi-pad. After pausing at nine doors, and staring through nine windows, Trouble was getting impatient.

'I thought we were going to see Fowl.'

The doctor didn't look up from his current chart. 'We are, Commander, we are. He's just a little further on.'

Trouble looked up the waiting corridor. It was dark, unaccompanied by the tell-tale glow of a lit room. In fact, on the right-hand wall, there seemed to be no more rooms left to light. There was only a small glint of something set into the left wall ahead, its glimmer cold and alone. The Commander left Argon to his chart and strode into the gloom.

It was a short walk, perhaps twenty metres or so and Trouble took it quickly. He stopped when he reached the glint – or more specifically another large window. A chart was fixed to the wall beside it just like all the others.

**II**

**Patient No. 55555**

**Condition – A.C. (St. 5)**

He put a hand up to the glass, straining his eyes to see within–

_FLASH._

The room lit up causing Trouble to yelp and rear backwards.

Artemis Fowl was stood right before him, pressed, unflinchingly against the glass.

His suit was gone, replaced by a long, white hospital gown that had been patched under the arms and around the hem. His hair, usually so clean and kempt was greasy, and shaved clean on one side, revealing a three-inch row of knotted stitches running from the edge of his temple to behind his right ear. His cheeks were sunken, his lips paper white. And his eyes, empty and dull as hollowed acorn husks, stared out at Trouble as if the mind behind them had been removed.

'Unnerving isn't it,' said the doctor, appearing beside Trouble's elbow, 'the way he seems to look at you?' He stepped closer and put his hand up to the glass. 'All he can see is mirror and yet…' The teenager's head turned slowly towards him, 'it seems as if he can see you.'

Trouble was appalled. 'What have you _done _to him?'

'Psycho surgery. Messy business, as you can see, but we had no other choice. The Complex had gone too far.' The teenager's lips, cracked like desert earth, parted and blew steam onto the glass. 'It was our very last resort.'

'He doesn't look cured. He looks horrific.'

'All temporary cosmetic features, Commander. There was no magic allowed during the procedure – it would only have ameliorated the complex. And I have advised there be no subsequent magical contact for another three days. We do not want to risk a relapse.'

Trouble raised his own hand to the glass. The teenager's eyes flickered to it. 'How bad was he? For you to do this to him?'

The doctor frowned. 'His hallucinations had become unmanageable.'

'Hallucinations?'

Argon looked at him. 'Corpses, Commander. In his bed, _under _his bed, in his clothes chest, on the ceiling, sometimes coming up through the floor...'

'What?'

The doctor suddenly chuckled at Trouble's expression. 'There's need to worry, Commander. They have all gone now... even the burning girl.'

There was a tap from the mirror and Trouble turned to find the human's eyes boring into his. Two brown eyes. The teenager was suddenly smiling.

'Shut up, Argon,' growled Trouble, stepping back from the glass. 'Go find someone else to swallow your stories.'

Argon shook his head. 'She is not a _story_, Commander. She was Artemis's most persistent imagining: the figure of a young girl stood in the corner of the room – burning.'

A cold crept over the younger elf's skin.

_Get a grip_, he told himself angrily.

'Go on then,' he snorted. 'Tell me. Who was she supposed to be? Someone he _murdered_? Is that what you're going to say?'

A device beeped on Argon's belt. The doctor picked it up and squinted at it. 'Don't be silly, Commander. She was merely a figment of Artemis's imagination.' He clipped the device back. 'You shall have to read the biography to find out who she really was.'

Trouble's head snapped towards Argon, but the elf was already half a dozen steps away. 'Argon! If there's anything he's told you that might threaten the people–!'

The doctor didn't look back. 'Expected publication date 2082. Eight grams, five, recommended retail price…'

* * *

Trouble descended the last few steps of Holly's apartment building and emerged onto the busy market street.

_It was Argon's stories. And you, a grown elf of one hundred and three, let them get to you._

But the eyes. There had been someone else in those eyes.

_It was the light. And Fowl. He's always been creepy. And that day he was at his creepiest._

He put his hands into his pockets and continued down the street, merging himself in the shouts and friendly-riot of the stalls. It had probably only been the light that had made Holly's eyes so dark. He was still so used to seeing both of them hazel. And it had been hazel hadn't it? Not brown? Yes, it had been hazel.

A shiver shuddered through his spine.

* * *

Three-month-old Evelyn Fowl grinned up from her cot. Quite an achievement considering she had her own foot jammed in her mouth. Artemis smiled back over the rim of the cradle. She was truly the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld.

The baby suddenly dropped her foot and squealed, stretching her fingers at him.

'_Hush_,' whispered Artemis, dipping his arms slowly into the crib. She squealed all the more as his fingers slipped under her back and he pulled her to his chest. 'There. Is that better?'

She gurgled and curled her fingers into the 'v' of his shirt, yanking at it insistently. Artemis frowned. 'I'm terribly sorry, Evey, but I'm afraid it's gone.'

She looked up at him. 'Ar, nargh, ar, ar.'

'I know. I'm quite put out about it myself.'

'Teh, narrr.'

'A boy called Tuley Brannagh.'

'Teh, teh.'

'No, I couldn't do that to him, Evey, it would cost too much. Not to mention the amount of time it would take to harvest the required bacteria.'

'Arr, arr, arr.'

'Hmm, yes. That _could _work. But still rather messy.'

'Ar.'

'Certainly not! Butler would never get the stains from my trousers.'

'Artemis?'

The teenager spun in surprise, clutching the baby to his chest.

Angeline Fowl moved into the light.

'Mother,' he breathed, allowing his arms to slacken slightly. 'You startled me.'

Angeline's eyes twinkled. 'Did I interrupt a conversation?'

The teenager shifted Evelyn further up his chest. 'That would be most ridiculous.'

'Did she have much to say?'

'Ar, teh, ar, tuh.'

Angeline focused on her daughter. 'Evey?'

The baby's face was a prune of concentration, her lips pursed and her brow drawn with almost comical seriousness. Angeline's smile faded and she held out her hands. 'Here, Artemis, let me take her.'

The teenager was reluctant, but he turned his sister from his chest.

Immediately the baby screamed.

'Evelyn!' gasped Angeline.

The baby was stretching her tiny arms back towards her brother, squealing in protest. And as soon as her mother's hands wrapped around her ribcage, her wails reached a staggering crescendo.

'Hush, Evey,' cooed Angeline, bobbing her in the crook of her arm. 'Hush, _mon amour_. Whatever is the matter?'

Artemis looked on awkwardly. Evelyn was still straining for him over his mother's shoulder. Her whole face a misery, her tiny chest hitching as she sobbed.

'Ar!' she wailed. 'Ar, tuh!'

Artemis felt something cold settle over his skin.

_Evey_?

'Ar, tuh! Ar, tuh!'

He swallowed and walked backwards, retreating to the bedroom door. 'I had better leave you, Mother. She is getting distressed.'

'Evelyn!' Angeline cried, struggling to keep the flailing baby in her arms. 'Evelyn, darling, please calm down!'

Then, loudly and with unmistakable clarity, Evelyn Fowl spoke. '_Art_!'

Her brother froze.

Evelyn had stilled in her mother's arms, staring after her brother with a silent, desperate yearning. Angeline gazed, bewildered, at her daughter.

'Art?' she whispered.

Artemis's blood was pounding in his head. He turned back to face mother and child.

Angeline looked at him. 'Art?' she repeated.

Artemis didn't reply; he was still staring at the baby as if she had grown a second head.

His sister let out another moan and swiped at the air between them. '_Art_!'

Then, hesitantly, Artemis walked forward and took his sister from their mother's arms.

'Her first word,' said Angeline faintly.

Artemis didn't reply. Evelyn had wrapped all ten of her fingers around his index finger, gazing up at him with wide, brown eyes. As Angeline watched them, another image took their place – another Fowl male, dark haired and blue-eyed, cradling a child to his chest.

'_Arty… our little Arty…'_

'Mother…?'

Angeline looked up. 'Yes?'

He was holding Evelyn carefully to his shoulder, her tiny body limp with sleep. 'You had better take her. I'm afraid I shall drop her if I hold her much longer.'

Angeline accepted her youngest child without comment and the teenager retreated once more to the doorway.

'Artemis?'

'Yes?'

'I laid a change of clothes out for you on the bed earlier. I had wished for you to wear them.'

Artemis didn't hesitate. 'I would have worn them, Moth – Mum. But I appear to have had a growth spurt and they no longer fit.'

Angeline's face fell. 'Oh.' Then she smiled at her boy. 'We just shall have to go shopping then. You and I together. That would be nice wouldn't it?'

The teenager returned his mother's smile weakly. 'Yes, nice.'

He turned away.

'Goodnight, Artemis.'

He looked back briefly – 'Goodnight… Mum,' – before leaving the room.

Once away and into the corridor he released a strangely shaky breath. It was that feeling again. Whether because of Tuley, Butler, his father, or the clothes he had semi-inadvertently incinerated earlier, he wasn't that sure – it may well have been a combination of all four. All he knew was that he still felt… disturbed. And the trip to see his sister, which he had believed would sooth him, had not served its purpose.

_Perhaps a trip to the twins…?_

His steps quickened.

* * *

'FEE FI FO FUM, I SMELL THE BLOOD OF AN_IRISHMAN_.'

'How many _times, _Beckett? You _can't _smell blood! Not unless you've miraculously developed the olfactory system of shark since–'

'_RAAAARRRGGGHHH!_'

Myles Fowl shielded his face as his twin attempted to roar in it. 'Artemis!' he wailed from beneath his arms. '_Tell _him!'

Artemis sighed heavily. 'Beckett, please don't shout at your brother.'

Beckett pouted. 'But I'm a giant! Giants are _meant _to shout! See? _RARRRGGHHHHH!'_

Myles ducked behind a kneeling Artemis, who instantly received a face full of toddler spittle in his new capacity as shield.

Beckett finished his scream and wiped a sleeve across his mouth. 'See? That was a_good_one.'

Artemis's expression was unmoved. 'Indeed.'

Beckett giggled, smiling shyly at his eldest sibling.

Myles, meanwhile, had come out from behind his human-barrier and folded his arms tightly. 'You. Are. A. S_impletoon_.'

Artemis pinched the bridge of his nose. Why had he come here again? Something about a state of peace? 'Boys, _please_. At least _try _to be civilised.'

'I am _not _cifilised!' protested Beckett, 'I am _three_!'

Myles slapped a tiny palm to his head. '_Simpletoon_.'

Beckett scowled and launched himself at his twin but Artemis managed to catch him mid-spring.

'Right!' he announced, putting Beckett on his rear upon the carpet. 'Bed time! Both of you!'

'But–!' chimed the toddlers.

'_No _buts! Or I shall inform Juliet of your behaviour!'

Both their tiny faces fell. They looked at each other, and then immediately scrambled to their respective beds.

Myles bounced in and pulled his sheets up high to his chin, tucking his replacement _Professor Primate _under his arm. 'I am in bed, Artemis!'

'Well done,' said his older brother, walking over and kissing him on the forehead. 'Sleep well, Myles.'

'I shall.'

He turned around to find Beckett lying hopelessly tangled in his blankets, his arms scrabbling to gather in all his toys. There must have been over twenty.

Artemis sighed, crossing the considerable distance across the room from Myles's bed to his twin's. 'Beckett, just pick _one_.'

The little boy's eyes widened. 'But I can't just pick _one_! All the others will be lonely!'

'No they won't; they'll be right here on the bed with you. Here, shall Amadeus Armadillo be the special toy to come in the bed tonight?'

Beckett inspected the plush, placental mammal before nodding and tucking it beneath the sheets.

'There,' said Artemis. 'All is well. Goodnight, Beckett.' He kissed the toddler's wayward curls and turned to leave the room.

'Arty!' He looked back to see Beckett sat up in bed, his fingers clutching to the material of his sheet. 'Don't go,' he whispered.

'Beckett?'

The little boy glanced warily over at Myles, checking his twin was turned away and fast asleep, before beckoning for Artemis to come closer. 'It's the night noises,' he said in a stage whisper.

Artemis felt the unsettling feeling stir in his chest. 'What noises?'

'The banging noises and... and the scratching.'

'The scratching?'

Just at that moment a pipe clanked in the ceiling above them. Both boys stared at the fresco.

_Calm yourself. It is merely the heating system cooling down._

Artemis looked down at his brother. 'Do you know how old this house is, Beckett?

'Older than me...'

'Much older. Parts of this house are almost a thousand years old.'

'A _thousand_?'

'Yes. And very old houses like this one do tend to make noises at night. But it is only the floors and the walls and the furniture winding down after a hard day of keeping everyone safe and warm. Don't you stretch and yawn when you're ready for bed?'

Beckett seemed to think about it, and then nodded.

'Well there you are. That is just what the house is doing.'

Beckett's expression twisted. 'But I don't _scratch_ when I go to bed.'

_I shall have to call a pest control company in the morning. If it is rats he is hearing, they'll need to be dealt with quickly._

Artemis straightened. 'The noises are nothing to worry about, Beckett. Now go to sleep.'

The boy frowned, not entirely satisfied. Artemis had just reached the door to the bedroom when he heard a tiny cry. It was Beckett, his ear pressed flat to his bedroom wall.

'Arty!' he hissed. 'Arty, I can hear it! I can hear the scratching!'

Artemis sighed heavily. 'Goodnight, Beckett.'

'No, wait! Come and listen! _Screeep, screeeep. _I can hear it!'

The teenager looked at him, his left hand already on the doorknob.

_Humour him_. _You owe it to him after being absent for half his lifetime._

His hand dropped. He walked back to bed and leant across to the wall, flattening his ear to the cold wallpaper. He heard... nothing.

Beckett pulled his head back and scowled. 'It's stopped.'

Artemis sighed. 'Never mind. I believe you when you say that it is there.'

'But it _was_there!'

'Hush! You shall wake Myles!'

'But–!' The boy was dangerously close to tears.

'Beckett_._' Artemis put his hands on his smallest brother's shoulders. 'I believe you. In fact… I'm going to go right now and investigate the source. Alright?'

Beckett sniffled. 'You are?'

'Yes, if that shall satisfy you.'

The boy's mouth twisted… and then, reluctantly, he nodded. 'Alright.'

'Alright. Now go to sleep.'

Beckett snuggled down in his bed, clutching Amadeus Armadillo tightly. 'Just be careful, Arty.'

'I shall. Goodnight.'

And he closed the door softly behind him.

The corridor outside was dim and silent. The whole house was closing up for the night. Harold, the family butler, had locked the main doors. Butler had undoubtedly checked them. Twice. The fires had been extinguished, the animals brought in for the night. Artemis knew that when he returned to his own room the sheets would have been turned down on his bed and a fresh set of pyjamas laid out on the chair beside the bookcase. But he would have to wait a little longer to reach them. He sighed heavily and set off along the hall.

The twin's room was on the second floor of the house in the far corner of the east wing meaning there were only three logical options for the source of the scratching. Beckett's wall connected firstly with that of the main music room above. Artemis knew for a fact that that room did not house rats or mice. His own prized instruments were kept within that room and it was inspected almost daily for errant creatures and other crawly things that could pose a risk to them. Another option was the scarlet lounge on the first floor, but his mother used that room to entertain almost every other day. It would be free of infestation. The third option was the main dining room on the ground floor, but again this was frequently inspected. And it was Butler himself who checked all the main family rooms: for bombs, hidden assassins, but also for pests and damp.

Artemis wasn't unduly concerned. The issue would eventually be solved. He continued to walk, descending the main staircase.

_What else would have firm contact with Beckett's wall? Something strong enough to travel up and be clearly heard. There must be another room connected to the wall. Unless it is something from the _outside _of the house? But surely the stone would be too thick. There must –_

He froze.

There _was _another room which connected with Beckett's wall. A room that connected deep within the foundations.

He reached the bottom of the main staircase, his final footstep echoing sharply around the hall. He had walked there without thought, almost right to the place of the forth option. Almost as if his body had known before him. He hesitated, and then took a sharp left.

How long had it been since he'd been down there? Seven? Eight years? He had hoped never to visit the room again. Butler had carried the gold bars out, aided begrudgingly by the then teenaged Juliet. Artemis had simply watched, guilt and pride sparring viciously in the pit of his twelve-year-old stomach.

The fifteen-year-old Artemis stopped to retrieve a torch from a nearby maintenance closet before clicking it on and shining it down the passage. The way before him was devoid of light, having been left unconverted during the manor's change to electricity during the early 1900s. He'd had it rigged for light during the siege of course but removed all traces after his mother's return to sanity.

The concrete stairway stretched beneath him. He hesitated, and took the first step down.

The silence was unnatural, pressing. The thin beam of the torch barely penetrated ten metres, leaving much of the narrow passage in darkness.

_But you already know what's down there._

He moved. One step, then two. He knew there were fourteen left to descend. Sixteen steps. Four times four.

_Stop that._

He took a third step, a forth. His breath began to steam before him.

_Of course it's getting colder, you fool. You're going underground._

A fifth step, a sixth. Yes, definitely cooler, and that feeling, that unexplained unease was growing again.

A seventh step, an eighth.

It was palpable now. His heart was almost beating through his skin. What was wrong with him? What was causing him so much–?

'Artemis!'

Shocked by the voice's interruption he faltered mid-step. His mouth opened, his feet twisted beneath him. He reached out, fingers gripping at thin air.

'_Artemis!_'

He fell. Concrete rushed up to meet him, colliding harshly against his shoulder and sending his head cracking into the edge of a step. The torch fell out of his hand.

'_Artemis!_'

Hurried footsteps were getting closer.

'_Artemis!'_

He lay there, blinking spots from his eyes.

'Artemis.'

Hands were under his arms, pulling him up.

'Artemis, are you alright?'

The teenager was unsteady. He stumbled and the hands tightened around his forearms.

'Did you hit your head?'

He mumbled something, his words incomprehensible. The man vanished. Artemis caught a single, illuminated image of a cell's steel door before the torch light flared in his eyes. He squinted, twisting his face away.

'No,' ordered Artemis Fowl Senior. 'Come on, Artemis. Look at me.' The teenager felt his chin being held. 'Alright. Hold on to my arm.'

Artemis gripped at something, feeling as if the whole world except the point of his hands was spinning on its axis. He staggered, slipping and accidentally embracing his father. Artemis Senior grunted and gripped around his son, hauling him from the passage. It wasn't long before they were back in the main entrance. They took the stairs quickly, Artemis's head lolling low, and soon they reached the door of his bedroom.

Artemis protested weakly as his father slid out from beneath his arm. He sank slowly forwards onto his hands and knees. Artemis Senior snatched up the pair of pyjamas laid on the back of a chair.

'Artemis.'

Artemis could barely look at him.

'_Artemis._'

The teenager's head tipped, his breath unsteady. His father pulled at his arms, stripping off his day shirt and replacing it with the flannel top of the pyjamas.

'Sit back.'

Artemis flopped sideways onto the carpet, coming to a rest on his back. Artemis Senior quickly tugged off his trousers, looping the cuffs of the pyjama bottoms over his son's ankles.

'Stand up.'

Artemis felt a hand under his armpit and was wrenched upwards. Artemis Senior pulled up the waist of his trousers.

'Now to bed.'

Artemis was steered towards the mattress, eventually collapsing face first among the sheets. His father shifted his legs under the blankets, pushing his eldest son until he was laid on his side.

'Goodnight, Arty,' he whispered, kissing his son's hair.

Artemis didn't respond.

The door clicked shut.

It was perhaps five seconds later that Artemis fell into unconsciousness.

And ten minutes later that he dreamt he heard a gunshot.

* * *

**Ooh, cripes :/ **

**Again, big thanks to Snakequeen-in-Norway for beta-ing this chapter :)**

**(And to Ru Doragon for recommending her in the first place)**

**In the next chapter it's back to Artemis and Annie, who finally deal with some buried things.**

**Now...review?**

**Or, y'know, those things'll stay buried. **

_**Deep. **_


	11. Chapter 11 Minor Imperfections

A/N: Hey :) Guess who's home for the holidays?

Just a few reviews to address...

**anon - **Ha ha! Yes, creepiness is fun to write! And yep, Annie's getting stronger. The room Artemis got dragged away from is the basement room he held Holly in in the first book - hence all the stairs and the cold :)

**To all the reviewers who have been kindly pointing out to me the many ways that ****my characters don't behave like they do in the novels - especially Arty Senior and Junior -** Really? There wasn't a chapter in your versions of the books detailing the Fowl family's murderous (and at times homoerotic) past? Wow, that's really strange. All I can say is there must be some real discrepancies between my editions and yours... Weird.

On a slightly less facetious note, I'm sure you'll all be pleased to know that I've got over my aversion to speech marks. So, for the first time ever, I've used them! Huzzah!

Also - there'll be a Welsh phrase in this chapter "Gelli Aur". Double 'l' in Welsh is pronounced by putting the back of your tongue near the roof of your mouth and making a sort of hissing noise. So 'Gelli Aur' is said: geh-*hiss*- lee (all said in a melded stream) Ore (with a roll on the 'r'). Just a tit bit of info.

**WARNING - CREEPY SHIT AHEAD THAT HAS NEVER HAPPENED IN CANON**

**SERIOUSLY. IT NEVER HAS.**

* * *

Disclaimer - This is a fanfiction :'( I'm not Eoin Colfer *sobs*

Soundtrack - 'Crash Land' by Twin Atlantic

* * *

**And years later when people ask you how you met, you'll say, "It's a beautiful story actually, I kidnapped her and locked her in my basement," and they'll say, "Wow, that is a beautiful story, please tell us more…"**

* * *

Chapter 11 – Minor Imperfections

She could see dust motes floating in the sunbeam. She reached out to them, watching them swirl about her curled fingers. "Pretty," she whispered.

Annie smiled. "Hello, Holly."

The elf smiled back. "Hello, Annie."

"You're nearly there now, you know, just a few more things left to see."

"Happy things?"

The girl faded from sight. "Important things."

"Alright! Stop talking!" shouted a voice. "That was good but not good enough."

Holly turned. A thin man in a white cassock was stood at the far end of the chapel, facing a choir of around thirty schoolboys. They were organised in rows along the wooden stalls, fidgeting with their floor-length robes, elbowing each other and guffawing stupidly. One boy in the front line stood completely still. He was staring across the chapel at a tall stained-glass window, his pale eyes glazed over.

"Fowl!" snapped the Choirmaster.

The boy blinked.

"Do try to concentrate, Fowl. You're always off with the fairies..."

A blonde boy in the second row sniggered. "He's a fairy alright," he muttered, causing a round of muffled snorts.

"Quiet!" bellowed the priest. The noise cut off. "Right. Again, from the start of verse two. And this time, _enunciate_. Open your mouths! An 'O' of sound remember? Alright lads, on my cue."

The Choirmaster raised his arms and there was a collective draw of breath. "_O lympha, fons amóris, Qui puro Salvatóris!_"

Holly's eyes widened. Their voices echoed up into the chapel ceiling, reverberating against the gothic fresco. For a second the air was full, thrumming with song and then… silence.

The tenors drew another breath. "_E corde prófluis, te sitiéntes pota!"_

And were swiftly answered by the trebles: "_Hæc sola nostra vota!_"

"_Nostra vota. His una súfficis."_

"_His una súfficis!"_

"_O Jesu, Tuum vultum, Quem cólimus occúltum."_

"_Sub panis spécie, Fac, ut remóto velo!"_

The Choirmaster's brow was drawn, his hands motioning each part into play.

"_Post líbera in cælo."_

"_Cernámus fácie!"_

Holly walked closer.

"_Cernámus fácie."_

Her eyes fixed on the boy with the black hair, his mouth open, his eyes bright and intent on the music.

"_Hæc sola nostra vota!"_

"_His una súfficis!"_

The voices were inside her now. They filled her chest, raising her heart to the level of the reverent faces painted high above. Their melodies inter-weaved, overlapped, swelled to an almost deafening beauty. Thirty voices had become one hundred, the walls of the chapel echoing back their words.

"_His una súfficis!"_

"_His una súfficis."_

"_His una súfficis!"_

"_His una súfficis."_

The music was building to a tumult. The Choirmaster's arms were raised above his head now, his hands drawing the melody on. The boys' eyes were flickering from music-books to master, their backs straight, their expressions rapt.

"_His una súfficis!"_

"_His una súfficis."_

"_His una súfficis!"_

"_His una súfficis."_

Then, as one, the choir bellowed their final chorus. _"His una súfficis!"_

The Choirmaster drew his thumbs and forefingers into a sharp line, the last note ringing out into the heavens. "Good," he said, once silence had fallen again. "We're getting there."

The boys slumped back into their pews and the black-haired boy went back to staring at his window. His mind wandered again, passing through snow and dodging goblins and climbing trains and flying shuttles and watching a single golden coin flying high into the air…

Then suddenly his eyes narrowed. There, just beside the stained foot of St. Joseph, was a face most definitely not celestial.

Annie Shinner was grinning at him through the glass, her pale face tainted a strange shade of cerise. She waved, then seemed to lose balance on whatever she was standing on. Her expression fell and then so did she, disappearing from sight.

"Okay, it's almost eleven o'clock now," said the Choirmaster, checking his watch, "so we'll recite the creed and leave it there for today. All together now: I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of Heaven and Earth…"

Artemis looked back at the priest. "I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary…"

He recited along with the rest, glancing back to the window. Annie soon reappeared, sticking her tongue out at him, a short twig caught in the tangles of her fringe. The boy glared at her.

"_Move!_"

He looked round. The teenager on his right was scowling at him, his expression matched by the five other boys queuing up behind. Artemis hurried from the stall, his eyes glancing back to the glass. The Choirmaster ushered them out, warning them to hold their robes above their ankles and to stay out of the mud. They filed into the cloud-shadowed courtyard. Holly followed, watching as the other boys immediately split into gangs of friendship, leaving Artemis on his own.

"Nibble!" snapped the Choirmaster, rushing past. "_Nibble!_ Leave Orifice _alone_!"

Taking advantage of his teacher's and classmates' distraction, Artemis doubled back, slipping into the shadows of the chapel entrance.

"Annie?" he hissed, eyes darting about the gloom. "Annie, where are you?"

"Boo!" She grabbed him from behind, spinning him around.

"_Annie_."

She laughed. "Hello, you."

"What are you _doing_ here?"

"Oh, y'know, just taking in the scenery..."

"_Annie_."

"Well I've come to see _you_ haven't I, stupid."

Loud voices sounded from the other side of the courtyard. Artemis grabbed Annie's hand, dragging her behind him. Holly tucked herself into the wall.

"What've you got last?" asked a drawling baritone, a pair of heavy footsteps approaching along the path.

"Chemistry," said the second voice, "but old Warcroft is off so I reckon we'll have Kensey instead."

Artemis backed Annie further into the shadows, his arm locking her out of sight.

"She's a right wind-up," continued the first voice, crossing the chapel-front. "She'll be spending half the hour just trying to stop Will Fathers setting himself on fire."

"Or _her_ on fire."

There was a burst of male laughter and the footsteps faded away. Artemis peeped out around the wood. "Good," he murmured. "They're heading towards the West wing." He stepped away from the wall. "I can take you out the trade-man's entrance. No one is likely to–"

"I'm not leaving."

"Well you can't stay here."

"Um... Yeah, I bloody can."

"No, you can't–"

"What is _up_ with you?" she hissed. "I've come all this way just to see you. Why do you suddenly have a problem with me?"

The boy snorted and turned his attention back to the courtyard. "Don't be preposterous."

She stood in front of him, blocking his view. "It's been three weeks. You haven't said a word to me–"

Laughter sounded from the other side of the courtyard. Artemis grabbed Annie's shoulders, ramming her back inside the entrance. Her back collided hard with the wall. The laughter tailed off. They stood there in the dark, his face inches from hers.

"I haven't been avoiding you," he whispered.

"Then why haven't you talked to me?"

"It… It is just difficult now."

"Because your dad's back?"

"Yes."

"I thought he wasn't getting out of hospital for another two weeks."

"He has recovered quickly. It's the magic. He's… he's a new man."

Annie raised an eyebrow.

Artemis leant from her, watery sunlight slipping onto his face. "We can't stay here," he murmured. "The bell will ring in twenty minutes and this whole area will be teeming with people..."

"Well I'm not leaving you."

The boy sighed.

"Just take me up to your room."

"I can't. The dormitories are barred during school hours and they always have someone on patrol." He frowned. She stared belligerently back. The first spots of rain began to drop outside their shelter. "Alright," he spat. "I know somewhere we can go, but we'll have to be quick."

He gripped her fingers and led her across the courtyard. She hurried after him, pulling up the hood of her sweatshirt as the clouds broke up above. The heavens opened and started to a run.

"Are we going inside?" shouted Annie, the rain already beginning to soak into the toes of her scrappy trainers.

Artemis shook his head, his breath slightly laboured. "No! They might find you. I know where we're going…"

Thunder grumbled in the distance.

Holly followed as he pulled Annie under the cloisters, his feet echoing heavily, before turning a corner and leading them once more into the rain. They skirted the walls of the Provost's garden and ducked low behind the hedgerows. A troop of first-years staggered past, their sodden rugby-socks rumpled around their ankles. Annie giggled as one boy tripped, but Artemis yanked her arm and she was dragged onwards. They sprinted across the lawn, holding their forearms over their faces as if it would somehow shield them from the relentless torrent. They stopped somewhere off the fourth green, panting and dishevelled.

"Rain," gasped Artemis, hands on his hips. "I… h-_hate_ rain."

Annie snorted. She slumped, damp, at the dusty base of an oak tree, her darkened sweatshirt drooping off her shoulders. "Well it was your bloody idea to come out here. We could have gone inside. I bet no one would have cared."

Artemis yanked his sodden choir robe over her head, hooking it clumsily over the branches of a nearby sapling. He shivered in the cold. His undershirt had turned translucent with rain, sticking in milky patches to his chest. His black trousers were plastered to his thighs.

Annie smirked. "Come here," she said. "I can dry you off a bit."

He trudged over to her. Annie got up, bunching the still-dry folds of her enormous sweatshirt sleeves and slapping them over his head.

"W-Whose jumper is t-this?" asked Artemis as she began rubbing at his hair.

"Tank's," she replied. "My brother's friend. He left it at the house last night and I took a fancy to it. _Jesus_, Artemis, how much stuff did you put in your hair this morning? It's all coming off on my hands…"

Artemis scowled at her, his hair now half-gelled into an upright position. "Well, I h-hadn't expected to get w-wet, had I?"

Annie flopped back down against the tree. She unzipped the sweatshirt and took her right arm out of the sleeve. "Come on then," she said, "before you bloody freeze."

"You aren't s-seriously suggesting…"

"Just get in here, Art."

They looked at each other. Artemis's folded arms were covered in goose flesh. His back was hunched, his knees pressed together, his whole frame quivering. Holly watched as he stepped reluctantly forward, crouching at the base of the tree. He tucked his arm into the free sleeve and shuffled sideways, pulling his side of the jacket across. She pulled across her side and with surprising co-ordination, they managed to slot the zip into the lock and pull it up as far as it would go. Artemis sat back.

"Warmer now?" asked Annie.

"Yes, thank you."

They were quiet.

"Comfy?"

"Yes… Well." He shifted, knocking her with his left elbow.

"_Ow_."

"My apologies."

He looped his arm over and then under hers. "There," he said. "That's better."

She pressed her lips together and there was silence. Artemis looked out into the rain. His eyes had glazed over again, much like they had in the church.

"Hey," said Annie, knocking her head gently against his. "You off with the fairies again?"

He chuckled. She smiled with him and reached for his fingers, only to find something hard clasped between them. Her smile vanished. She unzipped the jacket with her left hand, leaving enough of a 'V' for her to bring the object into the light. It was a small, golden coin, still attached by a cord around Artemis's neck.

"Your one spark of decency," she said.

He smiled. "Yes."

She snorted. "That's still got to be the most back-handed comment ever."

"_Annie_."

"Well! Your one spark of decency. What does she know…?"

He just looked at her significantly before taking the coin and tucking it back inside his shirt. Annie rolled her eyes. They went back to staring at the rain.

"So, your dad… How's that working out?"

Artemis sighed at her tone. "He is different, Anne. You haven't seen him."

"Is he still spouting all that hero bollocks?"

"It's not– It isn't–"

She looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Don't tell me you're swallowing it."

"There is no swallowing _involved_. He has changed, Annie. He isn't like he used to be, not in any sense. My mother is so happy now, we are _all_ happy now."

There was a silence.

"So that's why you've stopped seeing me, is it?" she said softly. "Because you're happy."

"_Anne_–"

"Well you've got it all now haven't you? Your dad back, your mum. It's not like you need _me_ anymore. You've got your whole family to keep you–"

He turned his face and pressed his forehead to her temple.

Thunder grumbled somewhere distant and the rain continued to fall.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Alright? I've been stupid. I didn't mean for you to think I'd been avoiding you. I've just had a lot of new things to adjust to. I haven't just haven't got the same amount of freedom any more, Annie."

She pushed back against his head, her brow furrowed.

"Anne?"

"What?"

"Forgive me?"

She didn't reply. He nudged her again and her face rolled to his.

"Annie," he whispered, their noses almost touching.

She could count his every eyelash, every jagged peak in the blue of his irises. His pupils were dilating, starved of light in the shadow of her face.

"Alright."

"Thank you."

"But you owe me a Dib Dab."

"What?"

"And two, no three, Freddos."

"Annie, I could give you diamonds, you know."

"Well, I want a Dib Dab and three Freddos, thanks all the same."

She unzipped the jacket and stood up, stretching her arms and yawning noisily.

"_Ergh_," she sighed, flopping her skinny limbs back to her sides. "I'm all stiff now."

He looked up at her from the ground. The sun was just starting to peep through the cloudbanks, gracing their patch of sodden greenery with a new light. Annie sighed and smiled into it, lifting her cheeks to the heavens.

"You know I'm glad," she said suddenly.

Artemis blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"About you being happy. I mean it. It's good." There was a pause. "Even if it does mean I get to spend less time with you."

He sighed. "You know I still want to see you, Annie. I just… have more sets of eyes to avoid in order to do it."

"Hmm. So when can I see you next then?"

"Lent half finishes in a week, then I'll be back to the manor."

"A week it is then."

She looked at him, the boy in the private-school tie wearing her stolen hoodie. "That suits you, you know."

And they both shared a grin.

* * *

The rain clouds that had gathered at St Bartleby's school had followed Artemis home, making the night sky outside his bedroom window fuggy and thick. The boy had his back to the outside, his hands and eyes busy at his workbench. He was muttering, counting, calculating, his heavily gloved fingers touching briefly to each of his instruments. Holly watched him silently from a corner.

"_Ergh_." Annie dragged herself through the open window, her cheeks flushed scarlet. "Bloody windy out there!"

Artemis hurried to her, yanking at her backpack and pulling her inside. She fell with a heavy thud to his carpet and he slammed the window shut.

"Art!" she protested as he stepped over her.

"Don't touch anything! And take off your shoes."

She blew her fringe up off her face. "Art–"

"_Shoes_."

She scowled at him and sat up, pulling off both her muddied trainers without undoing the laces. "There. Happy now?"

He didn't answer, so she huffed again and pushed herself up off the floor. The room was almost exactly how it had been the last time she'd been there: the same neat navy sheets on the bed, books still stacked neatly on their shelves. But his desk was now a mess of wires and micro-tools and he'd erected a new workbench beside it, blockier than the usual one and draped in black sheeting. Five containers were arranged atop it, each about the size of a wine-bottle and made of a thick, dulled metal. Artemis was fixing a large nozzle to the neck of a sixth.

Annie frowned. "What's that –?"

"Stay where you are!"

"Art–"

"I mean it! Stay where you are."

He looked back to the container. Annie and Holly watched him, his arms slightly shaking, as he finished securing the attachment to the bottle.

"There," he said finally, placing it back on the bench. He looked at Annie. "I'm sorry, Anne, I had to concentrate."

She raised an eyebrow. "Can I move now?"

"Yes, just… don't come over here."

She frowned. He was wearing a pair of strange overalls in addition to his gloves, with built-in boots and thick patches at the elbows and knees.

"What's in there, Art?" asked Annie, gesturing at the containers.

"Acid," he replied. "A highly corrosive acid; thus why I'm wearing this suit. I had to design it myself, along with all the containers. Nothing in existence was strong enough to withstand it. Well, nothing in our world…"

Annie walked closer. "Where'd you get it from?"

"The other world." He picked a large backpack-like device with three slots at the back and a thin hose drooping down across the chest straps. "Foaly, the LEP centaur, gave me a small vial of it which I used to melt through the padlock on the Mayak train. I kept the vial and the bare millilitre of acid left at the bottom of it, synthesizing it here in my lab. I've now got three vats of it, but these six bottles should be more than sufficient." He moved away again, picking up a second backpack.

"So we're going to… to melt the bodies?"

Artemis faltered, placing the second backpack on the bench. "Dissolve them, yes. That's… that's the general idea. The solution is designed to neutralize after a certain amount of time, absorbing itself into whatever material it finds itself on. After all these storms have finished there'll be no more evidence left besides the pits. And I shall be able to fill those in at a later date." He picked up a container, fixing it neatly into the first slot of the backpack.

Annie took another step forward.

"_Don't!_" he ordered, thrusting a gloved hand towards her. "Don't come any closer. I've got a suit for you in the closet but until you're in it I don't want you over here."

She could hear Artemis's breathing from where she stood, see his hands still trembling, the premature wrinkles webbed at the corners of his eyes. "Please," he said, "it's in the wardrobe. Put it on."

She nodded.

It didn't take long for her to find it, encased in a plastic cover with a small label reading 'Annie' on the hanger. She stripped off the cover and pulled it quickly on over her clothes, giving Holly only a brief glimpse of the bruises dotted around her elbows.

"Here," he said as she approached, holding out a pair of thick gloves, "put these on."

She did, her expression now as grave as his. He hefted the first backpack off the bench, now fitted with three of the cylinders. "We'll wear one each. They're quite heavy but I've installed a moon-belt in the waist strap that shall lighten the load."

"Moon belt?" she asked as he helped her get her arms through the loops.

"Don't worry about it." He pulled the straps tight. "Is that alright?"

"Yes," she said, with a slight wheeze.

He backed up to the workbench, slotting his own arms through the loops on the second pack. "There," he grunted, jostling his shoulders until the bag rested comfortably. "We are ready."

She looked at him. "Are we?"

Artemis avoided her eyes, jamming a woollen hat over his hair. "I acknowledge that this will be an… an unpleasant job–"

"Bit of an understatement."

He looked her sharply in the eyes. "You don't have to do this. I told you I would do this on my own."

"It's just you cleaning up his mess again isn't it? I thought you were done with this."

He cracked a wry smile. "Just once more for old time's sake, I suppose." Then his face dropped. "No, this is the whole _point_, Annie. This _is_ the last time. My father has finished with his old ways, there is nothing stopping him from moving on now except a few… lingering remnants. Once I am rid of those it shall be perfect."

Annie jerked her head towards the small, semi-built computer cube on his desk. "Then what's that? I thought you weren't supposed to be making stuff with fairy things."

"A… minor imperfection."

She studied him for a second more before sighing. "Alright. How are we getting out of here? I can't get back through the window with this thing on."

"No need. We can go through the main doors."

"But Butler–"

"Drugged. And my parents. I leaked some Isoflurane into their ventilation systems earlier." He grabbed an elasticated headlight and a filter mask from his workbench and looped them both over his hat. "They were all asleep anyway, now it's simply guaranteed that they won't wake up until I want them to."

Annie followed Artemis to his bedroom door. "But won't they suspect something?"

"Why?" he asked, tossing her her own headlight and mask. "They never have before..."

* * *

The air was close in the woods, soggy, suffocating. Artemis led the way, his face serious, clutching the straps of his pack. Annie followed him, singing absently under her breath. Holly kept close behind.

"_We don't have to take our... clothes off… to have a good time, oh no._"

Artemis frowned.

"_We'll just dance and party… all night. And drink some cherry wine, uh-huh_."

"Is that really appropriate?" he snapped, turning to face her so his headlamp shined in her eyes.

Annie raised her hands. "Jesus, Art–"

"Well would you stop singing that song?"

She lowered her hands, allowing her own lamp to shine in his face. "I'm here aren't I? Looking like an extra from a bad Ghost Buster remake, about to help you dissolve your father's murder victims. I reserve the right to sing whatever the feck I– _What was that?_"

Both children froze, their bodies turned towards the noise. There was another sharp caw and a bush not far from Artemis rustled as a murder of crows burst into the night.

"Birds," sighed the boy, putting a hand up to his chest. "Only birds."

Annie closed the gap between them, shuddering violently. "Ergh," she said. "Looks like someone just walked over my grave–"

"Don't say that!"

Annie's eyebrows shot up. "Alright. Alright, jeez. Bad thing to say…"

Artemis glared at her a moment more before turning back towards the path.

Holly followed.

"How do you know the way so well?" asked Annie, ducking beneath another claw-like branch.

He kicked aside a bramble vine. "Well," he said, shaking his boot as the vine remained attached. "I was here last night… documenting."

"Documenting?"

"I opened the graves, prepared them for us." Annie's eyes widened and he glanced back at her, anxious again. "Come on, we're nearly there."

They walked for another five minutes in silence, the woods and the wind gradually growing quieter around them, before emerging onto the edge of a clearing, wide and roughly circular in shape.

"_Gelli Aur_," murmured Artemis, staring down into the basin. "Golden Grove. Named so by a Welsh Lord that came visiting here in the fifteenth century. Apparently this place was once full of Ragwort."

It was hard to believe that now. From what Annie could see from the lights of their headlamps the earth was bare but for pits. There were thin pits, shallow pits, some pits shorter than other pits. Much shorter. She tried to count them. Seven, thirteen, twenty-two, thirty. There were some she couldn't see, lying in the shadows that their headlamps couldn't reach. In the closer ones she could already see the black tarpaulin, barely masking the bodies beneath.

Holly pressed her hands over her face. Her throat was constricting, her eyes watering, such was the strength of the stench rising from the hollow. It was unholy, _evil_.

"I shouldn't have brought you here," said Artemis, his breathing ragged. "This was stupid of me, unfair–"

"Shut up."

"Excuse me?"

"I said shut up. We're here now aren't we? So let's get down there and get it over with." Annie broke free of his hand, pulled up her mask and strode the short distance to the first grave. "Come on!" she shouted through the filter.

Artemis closed his eyes, composed himself, and then walked down after her. "Two sprays should do for each bag," he said, pulling up his own respirator. "Any more would be superfluous."

Annie nodded, pulled out the nozzle of her sprayer out and let it hover over the first pit. She shot two short bursts into the hole. The plastic covering began to melt; what was left of the clothes, the skin, muscles, organs, and finally the bones all dissolved into the earth, hissing faintly. Annie grimaced.

"Oh my _God_. That was like the end of _Indiana Jones_."

"You always did have a way with words."

"_You always did have a way with words,_" mimicked Annie, moving onto the next grave and giving two short douses. "Well how would you describe it?"

"Horrific? Appalling?" he suggested, giving his first grave a spray. "Monstrous?"

They carried on without speaking; the only sounds those of their footsteps, the pumps and the hissing of melting corpses. Their legs became spattered with mud, their foreheads sheening with sweat. Artemis ghosted from grave to grave, barely even glancing at their occupants anymore. Annie stopped after a while and watched him; his face looked like a sullen Jack O' Lantern in the shadows of his headlamp.

"So how's the love life going?"

Artemis glanced up, bent over a large grave. "I'm sorry?"

"I said, how's the love life?"

He straightened and pulled down his respirator. "Are you seriously asking me this here?"

She shrugged and pushed up her own mask. "Why not? Thought I'd try and lighten the mood."

"Lighten the–? _Annie_."

"What? These guys aren't listening to us." She leant over her nearest pit. "Are you? No. He says he isn't."

"That's not funny."

"I know Tuley sent you a Valentines. Did you send one back?"

"No."

"And do you still fancy that blonde from the girl's school?"

"What–? _No_."

"Good. She had a face like haunted Tupperware."

He scowled at her. "Why are you doing this?"

"No reason."

"Then could you stop?"

She pretended to consider the pit beside her. The corpse within it was a small one, wrapped in multiple bin-liners. "What about Holly?"

The elf's heart suddenly picked up.

"Who?"

"Now you _definitely_ fancy her."

"Don't be absurd."

"You talk about her all the time."

"Hardly–"

"You play with that coin almost constantly."

"Force of habit."

She raised an eyebrow.

Artemis went back to looking at his pit. Annie, ever the masochist, folded her arms.

"You'd make beautiful babies."

"Annie."

"They'd have your eyes and her webbed feet–"

"She doesn't have–!"

"And years later when people ask you how you met, you'll say, 'It's a beautiful story actually. I kidnapped her and locked her in my basement,' and they'll say, 'Wow, that is a beautiful story, please tell us more–' _Oh my God!_"

Annie reared back from the grave she'd just sprayed.

"Annie?" cried Artemis. "_Annie_!" He ran over to her as fast as his muddied boots would allow. "Annie, are you ok?"

She shook her head, her eyes clenched shut. "He fucking… he fucking killed…"

He left her, walking to bend over the grave she'd abandoned. Half the cadaver had been disintegrated but the top half of the torso was still pretty much complete. The body was wearing a cap and a grey V-necked school sweater with a small crest over the left breast.

"You… you used to wear that."

The teenager's face was suddenly blank. "Henry Farthings. I identified him earlier. He was… he was in the year above me at infant school. When he didn't come to school that day our teachers told us he'd emigrated with his family to New Zealand."

Artemis pulled out his hose and gave the tiny body a last spray, his bones dissolving into those of his parents' below.

There was a faint hissing and then silence fell again.

"Come on," he said quietly. "I want to have this finished by four."

* * *

Artemis tore off his hat and headlight, banishing them to the far corner of his room. His fingers pulled at his collar and ripped down the zip of his suit. He flung it from him, the drained backpack falling with a thud to the floor, kicking off his boots and storming into the en suite. Annie quietly closed the door to his room. She could hear the pressurized sound of water on tiles. She took off her own lamp and suit and laid them on the bench, setting her pack down beside them.

Holly stood beside the window, watching.

Five minutes later the boy burst back into the room. He'd dressed himself in a pair of cotton pyjamas but had not bothered to dry himself properly before putting them on – there were darkened patches on his chest, back and thighs, and his hair was dripping wet.

"Art?"

The boy ignored her, instead heading straight for his desk.

"Artemis?"

He shook his head.

Annie frowned. "Art–"

He turned to her, one hand still on the handle of a draw. "What?"

She said nothing.

He resumed his burrowing inside the draw.

Whatever it was he was looking for he didn't seem to find. He slammed the draw shut and leant against it. He took several steadying breaths.

"You alright?" asked Annie.

Artemis stared at her for a full second before bursting out laughing. "Alright? _Alright_?" He laughed again, raising his face and a hand to the ceiling. "She asks me if I'm alright! Alright. _Alright_."

Annie waited for him to finish.

"No," he said finally. "Not at the moment. Are you?"

She half shrugged. "Not bad… Could do with a drink."

"Well, I've nothing in this room but tea and acid, so take your pick."

Annie walked over to her bag beneath the window and ripped open the back pocket. "That's okay. I brought my own supplies." She pulled out a half-full bottle of vodka.

Artemis eyed it. "You came prepared."

"I thought we'd want it."

She unscrewed the cap and poured the bottle back into it. Then, after a brief hesitation, threw the drink into her mouth.

She shook her head. "_Wow_."

His mouth was a thin line as she poured out another a measure.

"C'mon," she rasped, her eyes watering slightly. "This is your one." She held it out to him. "_C'mon_."

He took the cap and his expression became wistful. "To oblivion," he whispered, and threw the cap towards his mouth. "_God_," he gasped, his composure instantly vanishing, breaking into a coughing fit.

Annie cocked her head. "You alright?"

The boy couldn't answer; tears were streaming down his cheeks, his throat burning.

"You'll be alright," decided Annie. "You just need to get used it." She snatched the bottle back and took a swig straight from the neck.

Artemis stared at her. "How can you… stand it?"

She lowered the bottle, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. "As you said, means to an end. Here, have some more."

He frowned as the glass was thrust in his face. He took it in two hands and drank warily. "_Ergh_. There is… absolutely no difference."

"Well you're not coughing your guts up anymore." She took back the bottle.

He grabbed it just as she began tipping back. "Annie!"

"What?" she asked, her voice louder than usual. "We're in the house aren't we? It's _fine_."

Artemis looked at the bottle. It swilled noisily. He closed his eyes and took another long chug.

"Oh God," he croaked, putting the bottle down. "I… That is still disgusting."

Annie laughed from somewhere near the window. "Light weight."

He put a hand to his head, squeezing his eyes shut. The bottle slipped from his hand.

"Art!" shouted Annie, grabbing it from the floor. "You're tipping it! Jesus… I'm putting it on the table."

He opened his eyes. "Don't go near acid!"

"I'm not! It's by your bed alright?"

He closed his eyes again. "Alright."

He heard the dulled splash as the bottle was upended again.

"You're just drinking it," he observed.

"I'm not."

"I can hear you doing it!"

"That's… the sea, stupid."

"It isn't."

Annie flopped across his bed. "Art?"

"What?"

"You feeling alright now?" Annie looked across at him. "Art? _Arrrrty_ pants?"

He groaned. "Don't... My father calls me… Arty Pants." He got to his feet, a hand still pressed to his head. "Why is the…? Annie."

"What?"

"The room is…" Artemis staggered forwards and clutched at his curtains. "Why…? Oh."

Annie grinned, clambering up off the bed and grabbing him by the wrists. "Dance with me!"

"I don't think– _Oof_."

But Annie had already wrapped her hands around him, hugging him tightly. She smiled into his chest.

Holly watched them. For a moment they remained still. Then Annie was laughing, pulling them both around the room, lifting Artemis's arm up and twirling underneath. The boy staggered after her. She spun again, holding her hand up so he could spin beneath her. Both their hearts were thrumming, though his didn't quite realise why. Annie grinned at him. Artemis stared unsteadily back; she was the one stable thing in a cyclone of colours. After three and a half rounds of the room they flopped onto the bed, both out of breath.

"So you… berrer… now?" panted Annie. "Not… so grumpy?"

He swallowed and shook his head. "I feel… I feel…"

Annie hiccupped, and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"I feel…"

She looked at him and hiccupped again, sending herself into peals of laughter. Artemis dragged himself off the bed, perhaps a little too quickly. He tripped, steadying himself by grasping hold of the curtains again.

"You!" he declared, swivelling sharply, "_you_."

This just caused her to laugh harder. She rolled over, burying her face in one of the pillows.

"And I!" He staggered slightly as he pointed to his chest. "Am… hmm."

"You're a dipstick," mumbled Annie into the cotton.

Artemis shook his head three times, four times… seven times. He grinned. "No… I… am a genius. I kidnap things… and they don't let me free."

"Woh?"

Artemis waved his arms, and his grin widened. "N'mind, n'mind…" He stumbled, forward.

Annie thrust out a hand. "Acid!"

Artemis stopped. He swayed as if he stood on the deck of a roiling ship.

"Acid," repeated Annie, her arm falling back to the bed. "Don't go near acid."

The boy nodded. "Hmm. Acid." He giggled. And then hiccupped. "Why?" he demanded, pitching forwards again and gripping a post of his bed. "Why haven't I done this before? This is…" He swung around and fell with a thump at the base of the footboard. "Ha!"

Annie sat up and slung herself to the end of the bed. She hung unsteadily over him, her hands on the wood above his head.

"What cha doing?"

He looked up and grinned. "Sitting on my… bottom."

"Bottom?"

"_Bottom_. You know I've never sworn don't you?"

"Never… woh?"

"Never sworn! Not _once_!"

Annie blinked heavily. "That's… that's…"

"Fowl!" announced Artemis. "That's incredibly _Fowl_. It's so very _Fowl_." He got up, and blinked heavily.

"You," observed Annie, "are _gone_."

He just laughed and grasped at the bedpost, placing one foot up onto the mattress. With a great tug he tried to lever himself back atop the bed, but his hands slid down the pole and he ended up on his back, one foot suspended awkwardly in the air. Annie rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm. With an even greater tug, she managed to fold the boy up onto the sheets. His hips rolled forward and he collided face-first with the blankets. Annie pulled at his shoulders, rolling him over.

He grinned dopily up at her. "Ah. My fair saviour. _Thee_ that doth eclipse the Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light…"

She stared back, her eyes unfocused.

Then he sat up, and, with a hand braced on Annie's shoulder, managed to get to his feet.

"Art–?"

"Prepare thyself!" he cried.

"Art, what–?"

"I'm going to say it!"

"_What_?"

He closed his eyes, swallowed and then: "_Fuck_."

There was a frozen moment: Artemis still stood triumphantly atop the mattress, Annie sat beneath him, eyes wide, body swaying.

"Wow," she said after a brief silence. "That was… intense."

He glanced down at her. "_Shit_."

"Bad."

"_Bollocks_."

"Whoa."

"_Cunt_."

"Woh-_ho_!" He scowled at her and she burst into laughter.

He dropped to the mattress and gave her a vengeful shove in the ribs. She clung onto his arm, barely holding onto the mattress.

Her cheeks were flushed red. "I go you go, 'member?"

He smirked and rolled towards her. Her eyes hardly had time to widen before she was falling off the edge, dragging Artemis and half the bedding with her. They landed in a bundle on the carpet.

"Art–!"

He rolled over, their legs tangled, chests bumping. When they settled again they were on their sides, faces inches apart.

"You go, I go," he panted. "Remember?"

Annie's heart hurt from the force with which it was throwing itself against her ribcage. He was looking at her with eyes deep and unguarded and she couldn't help but stare back. The room simply didn't exist anymore. Their entire world had frozen, all except for some strange heat that licked its way inside of them, painting their souls in colours they'd never seen before.

Their eyes slowly slipped shut.

Holly's heart was beating almost as fast as the teenagers'. Her breath was unsteady, her fists clenched. She watched as their noses rubbed against each other, stroking, almost daring…

_Artemis_.

Their lips touched.

They leant into each other. His hand rose to her hair, her hand to his face. They held each other, cradled each other, took great, plunging breaths of one another. Her leg rose and his parted, hooking their limbs tightly together, his soft pyjamas rucking up above the knees…

And then his head snapped back.

Annie's eyes opened. "Art–?" He twisted onto his other side, wrenching her half on top of him. "Art–!"

He vomited onto the carpet.

"Okay." Annie detached herself from him, quickly but carefully.

Artemis just groaned. "Annie…"

"It's alright," she said, her brain crashing back to reality. "It's alright. We just need… need to get you to the bathroom."

"Annie–"

"_No_. Hold it in."

"_Ergh_."

"I'm here… I'm here." Annie set her eyes on the bathroom, hoisting him up by the waist. "I'm…I'm here…"

* * *

**Aw, Arty. Too much vodka + too much movement = _bad times._ **

**Big thanks to my editor-extraordinaire, Cielo Crimisi, for twice beta-ing this chapter! She's an amazing proof-reader, but not so good at April Fools ;)**

**In the next chapter someone gets a little out of their depth. **

**Now, review?**

**Please?**

**Because t****here's only four chapters to go.**


	12. Chapter 12 Incidents & Accidents

Right, I was going to post this chapter as a separate story and put it as an 'M'. I've changed my mind. So as THIS CHAPTER is an 'M' I'll just give you plenty of warning and keep it in with the rest - because the rest is 'T' worthy. So yeah, read this:

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**TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN (YES, THAT'S YOU!)**

I'M TERRIBLY SORRY BUT I SHAN'T BE ABLE TO CONTINUE THIS STORY... AT A 'T' RATING. THE NEXT CHAPTER CONTAINS A FEW THINGS THAT I CAN NO LONGER JUSTIFY KEEPING AT A LOWER RATING.

**THIS CHAPTER IS 'M' RATED FOR VIOLENCE, LANGUAGE AND SEXUAL REFERENCES - BUT NO ACTUAL SCENES OF A GRAPHIC SEXUAL NATURE**.

BUT YEAH - IT'S AN 'M' FOR A REASON, SO JUST BE WARNED BEFORE YOU READ! THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL PROBABLY STAY AT A 'T'... BUT I'LL DECIDE WHEN I'VE PROPERLY FINISHED IT. BUT YEAH - **YOU'VE BEEN TOLD!**

YOURS,

**HOLIDAYBOREDOM**

P.S. Enjoy, ma dear...

* * *

**THIS IS AN 'M' RATED CHAPTER**

* * *

**THIS IN AN 'M' RATED CHAPTER**

* * *

**THIS IS AN 'M' RATED CHAPTER**

* * *

**THIS IS AN 'M' RATED CHAPTER**

* * *

**THIS IS AN 'M' RATED CHAPTER**

* * *

**AGAIN, ****THIS CHAPTER IS 'M' RATED FOR VIOLENCE, LANGUAGE AND SEXUAL REFERENCES - BUT NO ACTUAL SCENES OF A GRAPHIC SEXUAL NATURE**.

* * *

**Okay? You got it? Well warned? Okay... **

* * *

Disclaimer: Yeah. No.1 would have been long ago killed off along with Doo Dah Day (was Colfer seriously lucid when he decided on that name?). The twins would be called 'Hector' and 'Meringue'.

Sound Track: Seven Devils by Florence and the Machine

* * *

_**'Ninety per cent of accidents occur in the home.'**_

* * *

Chapter 12 – Incident and Accidents

Artemis woke with difficulty. His alarm clock was ringing but it sounded faint, muffled almost. He opened his eyes and released a hiss of pain. His brain was throbbing, _pounding_. He felt vaguely like he had the morning after his first taste of vodka.

_My first taste of Annie…_

He shut his eyes, overwhelmed by the pain in the right side of his frontal lobe. He took several deep breaths.

_What happened?_

He tried to sit up properly but a bolt of pain shot through his shoulder. His eyes began to water.

* * *

**THIS IS AN 'M' RATED CHAPTER.**

* * *

He took a moment, gritted his teeth, and dragged himself upright. He hobbled across the carpet, noticing the ache in his ribs and the stiff resistance in his knees. Eventually he reached the bathroom, and the bathroom mirror.

He drew a sharp breath.

There was an angry, half-scabbed graze above his right eye that stretched across his eyebrow and up onto his temple. He touched it gingerly, then tugged back the sleeves of his pyjama shirt. His arms were mottled with bruises. Some were darker than others, especially two that ran parallel at his forearms, a line of violet, as if he'd fallen on something hard but thin.

"The stairs," breathed Artemis.

He could remember something about a step… about a fall. He unbuttoned his shirt and with much wincing, pulled the flannel back from his shoulders.

There was a knock at his door. "Sir?" called a voice, stuffy but polite.

"Don't come in!"

"Breakfast has been served in the main dining room, sir," continued the voice. "The Master and Lady are expecting you."

"Tell… tell them I'll be down shortly."

"As you wish, sir."

He heard muffled footsteps as the old butler walked away. The teenager's expression was drawn as he met his own eyes in mirror.

_I must have fallen on the stairwell._

But then why had he no recollection?

_Head injury. By the marks on my forehead I have clearly suffered a blow to the cranium._

His eyes wandered to his arms again, to the row of finger-shaped bruises lining his upper-arm.

_I have been handled. Butler perhaps? Did he pick me up and take me back to my room?_

Sudden heat rushed to his cheeks and he shrugged his shirt off completely. How embarrassing, to have stumbled like a clumsy child and have to be carried to bed. He snatched a towel off a nearby rack. _Shower first, then breakfast_, he decided, _though God knows what mother will say of my face_...

* * *

There was a sharp gasp as Artemis entered the dining room. "Artemis!" exclaimed Angeline. "What happened?"

Artemis Senior glanced up over the top of his broadsheet.

"I lost my stepping on the staircase last night and took a hard tumble," said Artemis calmly, taking his seat at the table. "It is nothing to worry about, Mother." He picked up his napkin and spread it neatly onto his lap, nodding to a nearby footman that he would indeed take tea.

"You look as if you've been in a fight."

"In which the staircase won," commented Artemis Senior dryly, flicking out his newspaper. "Has Butler seen to you yet?"

"I assume so," said Artemis. "He must have escorted me back to my room last night."

"Must have?"

"I woke up this morning in my bed, dressed in my night clothes. He must have helped me up."

"It was I who helped you."

"You?"

"Yes. You remember. On the stairway."

"No," said his son quietly. "I don't."

Artemis Senior licked the tip of his thumb and turned a page. "Not surprising. You had hit your head quite hard. I picked you up and took you back to your room."

Angeline was aghast. "What if he had had a concussion?"

"He didn't," said the man simply. "A few scrapes and bruises, nothing more." He smiled tightly and took a sip from his coffee.

The doors to the dining room burst open.

"Mummy!"

Angeline was immediately distracted, hoisting the baying three-year-old up onto her lap. "_Oof_! Good morning, Beckett."

Artemis continued to look at his father.

"Did you sleep well?" asked Angeline.

"Adequately," replied Myles, clambering up onto a chair beside Artemis and reaching for a croissant. "Although the mattress could do with turning; I do not care to risk lumbago."

The nanny hovered apologetically by the door.

"It's alright, Tara." Angeline smiled. "You go and get some food now."

The young woman curtsied and left without a word.

"Wah's appened t'er ace'?" demanded Beckett through a mouthful of jammy toast.

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

The toddler swallowed. "What's happened to your _face_?"

"I fell. Apparently."

Artemis Senior's eyes flickered.

"That was silly," decided Myles. He was carefully buttering a crumpet now, the over-sized cutlery awkward in his grasp.

"Was it when you was investigating?" asked Beckett.

Artemis frowned. "When I was what?"

"Beckett," snapped Artemis Senior. "Eat your breakfast."

The-three-year old returned begrudgingly back to his plate.

_Investigating? _thought Artemis. Then he caught sight of the clock over the mantelpiece.

"I must go," he said, dropping the napkin onto his plate. "Butler will be waiting for me."

"Oh, must you rush off, Dear?" called Angeline.

Their eldest son glanced back as he reached the door. "I will be home in six and a half hours, Mother. I shall see you then." The door closed.

Angeline sighed. "You won't be like that, will you?" she asked Beckett, who was now spooning copious amounts of nugget-shaped cereal into his mouth. "Always rushing out on me?"

"He has school, Angeline," drawled Artemis Senior. "A worthy commitment to meet."

"You and I both know he has hardly a need for further schooling."

"There are lessons he needs to learn besides the academic."

"Such as?"

Artemis Senior only smiled and went back to his paper.

* * *

"Good morning–_What's happened to your face?_"

"Good morning to you too, Butler."

"_Artemis_." Butler put a hand on the teenager's shoulder, stopping him just as he was about to step into the car. "What's happened?"

The boy sighed and his manservant began to probe his injuries. "Apparently I lost my footing on the stairway and… this was the result."

Butler's brows drew so close they almost touched. "Apparently?"

"According to my marks and my father."

"Then I take it you don't remember what actually happened?"

"Not completely."

The elder man let his hands fall. "I should take you to a hospital; you could have a concussion."

"No." Artemis took his opportunity to slip into the Bentley's back seat. "No, I am not going to a hospital."

"Artemis–"

"Butler, please. If you would get in the car and drive."

The manservant walked to the driver's side, his jaw clenched. Once in his seat, Artemis caught the elder man's eye in the rear-view mirror.

"Butler," he said in clipped tones. "I know you are concerned but I do not want to waste my day being fussed over because of a few superficial cuts and bruises."

Butler pulled off and ground the gearstick straight into third. "If it's just bruises then why can't you remember anything?"

Artemis frowned and they drove along the rest of the grove in sullen silence.

Butler felt, and not for the first time, the frustrating constraints of his and Artemis's relationship. He was not simply the boy's servant, he knew that, but yet there were still things he couldn't quite say. Fears he couldn't express due to the barriers between them having not quite been smashed asunder. So he offered what he could.

Twenty minutes later and Artemis was staring hard out the passenger window, the fingers of one hand pressing lightly to his grazed forehead.

_I should contact Volga; perhaps she would have more insight on the whole 'Neck' debacle. Hopefully Tuley will also have more information within the next few days._

Butler glanced at him in the rear-view mirror.

"Artemis?"

_It's safe to assume that the coin is a lost cause. I could meet with him again but that would be too much of a risk. No doubt it would only end with–_

"Artemis?"

The teenager looked up. "Yes?"

He met the dark eyes of his manservant. "Is everything alright?"

There was a pause.

Artemis cocked an eyebrow. "Yes…"

"And you're sure?"

"Yes. I mean, obviously there is the problem of my somewhat battered visage but besides that…"

"Because you can tell me if… if there isn't something right."

Artemis' face was calm. Inside, worry stabbed in his stomach bleeding into a wrenching dread that he hadn't even realised he'd been harbouring. It all pushed against mental floodgates, threatening to burst at any moment. His tongue grew hot with the taste of it. He swallowed.

"Yes," he said. "I know."

They pulled into the driveway of the school. Children were leaving their guardian's cars, doors slamming, hands waving, voices calling out their goodbyes. The Bentley stopped and Artemis stepped out without waiting for Butler to open the door for him.

"I'll be back at four," boomed the manservant through the open window. He saw the boy raise a hand behind him as he walked away, and with a soft grunt Butler pulled the car back into gear.

Artemis glanced back just as the Bentley was disappearing around the corner.

Then something slammed into his aching shoulder causing him to shout out. A blonde boy with a heart-shaped face looked round at him.

"Oh!" he said, the smile falling from his face. "Fowl. Sorry, I– Jesus! What's happened to your face?"

Artemis hitched his satchel back onto his good shoulder.

"Hey! _Hey_!" shouted the boy, as Artemis passed him without looking back.

The noise drew more attention and stares, and the whispers accompanied him all the way to registration and into his first lesson. In his second lesson someone actually kicked his chair. He turned around angrily.

_What happened to your head? _mouthed the frog-faced owner of the foot. Behind her, at least a dozen of his classmates were waiting eagerly for his reply.

The teacher chose that moment to turn from the white-board. "… which led to the French making war against –? Mary!"

On the first read through, it sounded more like he was cutting himself off because he noticed her doing something he didn't like.

The frog-face girl gaped. "Er…"

"You don't know, do you? Well maybe if you spent more time paying _attention_, Mary, and less time mooning over Artemis perhaps you'd learn more! Caleb, the answer please!" There was a soft knock at the door. "Come in!"

A coffee-skinned boy with close-cropped hair entered, a small note clenched in his clammy hand. Doctor Gradgrind read it quickly. "Artemis, you're wanted in the East Wing, room 306."

The Fowl heir raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

The teacher arched an eyebrow of his own. "Ours is not to question why, boy! Shift!"

Artemis sighed and rose from his seat.

_Whatever it is, it'll be a welcome escape from this drudgery._

He shoved his pencil-case and book into his bag and walked out, the eyes and whispers of his classmates following him into the corridor. The messenger boy walked ahead of him.

"Are you to take me to the room?" asked Artemis.

The boy shook his head. "Nah, I've got to go back to class. You can find your own way."

Artemis scowled. "And who sent the message? Who am I going to see?"

The boy shrugged. "I dunno. A woman in the office just told me to give it to Gradgrind. I dunno her name."

And then he turned right, barging into a classroom door and back into class. Artemis was left alone. He frowned, his mood already dark from a morning of obnoxious interrogation. He stalked onwards, wondering vaguely which teacher wanted him this time. Once, _once, _he'd done a good turn for the music master, Professor Horn, performing in a school concert when they'd been desperately short of accomplished soloists. He'd been called on for favours ever since, from _every_department.

He reached the East Wing, unperturbed by the silence. It was always quiet in this wing; it was the reason he had chosen it for his private rendezvous with Tuley.

_Not so private in the end._

He sighed and walked on.

_301, 302, 303…_

His curiosity stirred lazily. What would be greeting him in this room? A nerve-shot chemistry hand? A frazzled English professor? A baby grand?

_306, here._

He twisted the knob and pushed open the door. The classroom beyond was in darkness. He walked forward. "Hello?"

There was no answer. His brow creased.

_Perhaps I have arrived too early for them–_

At that moment, he felt something seize hold of him from behind.

Artemis twisted, shouted out, but his screams were muffled as a heavy arm clamped over his mouth. He struggled harder, clawing at the alien skin over his face. He kicked back his legs, writhed left and right. His feet were lifted off the ground. There was a stabbing pain in his left shoulder and he was released. He staggered forward, colliding heavily with the corridor wall. His head began to swim.

_Run. Run._

The world was blurring. His knees gave in and his face slid down cold plaster. Voices were speaking over him but their words were warped, deep; he couldn't understand a word. His feet slipped from under him. The figures were looking at him, and Artemis tried to look at them. He tipped sideways, his hands clapping against cold stone.

'No…' he mumbled on all fours. His lips felt dipped in lead.

The figures moved closer.

_Run. Run._

His elbows buckled. His head hit stone.

* * *

Holly woke and sat bolt upright. She panted into the darkness, her heart hammering and her skin sheening with sweat.

"Oh gods," she gasped. She dropped her head between her knees. It didn't help. "Oh gods."

She swung her legs off the bed. Five strides and she'd reached the sink, vomiting into the basin. The smell seared up her nostrils causing her to wretch again. She welcomed it; she welcomed anything that would replace the stench of _Gelli Aur_. She could still hear it: the hiss of the flesh as it melted into the earth, the soft squelch of boots on mud, the casual conversations. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. The trees still murmured above her, the headlamps still glowed, the faces still stared up from their holes. She heaved.

Once she was finished she sat on the floor of her kitchen, her head tilted against the cabinets at her back.

_Artemis_…

His face swam to the forefront of her mind, smiling that wry smile of his, the one that almost always hinted of secrets. She dug the heels of her palms into her eye sockets. A kaleidoscope churned behind her hands and two dark-haired teenagers waltzed at the centre.

_"I go, you go,"_they whispered.

Holly's arms fell. There was a sharp pain in her chest now, a persistent stinging.

_Artemis_.

She swallowed.

_Buzzz._

"Holly!"

Her gaze flicked to her intercom.

"Holly, let me up! Quick! I've got someone with me."

"It's me, Holly!" called another voice, younger, brighter. "And Foaly's told me all about your crazy visions! We're here to help!"

There was a hissing noise and a muffled response. Holly didn't know whether to giggle or cry.

"Holly, please," said Foaly's voice. "Just let us up."

The elf pushed herself from the floor. "Door, release," she said clearly, and Foaly and Nº1's faces disappeared from her com-screen.

Seconds later the centaur burst into her flat, dragging a squat cart behind him. Nº1 bounced past his flank and ran to Holly.

"Hello, Nº1," said Holly, unable to quell a smile as his scaly arms wrapped around her waist.

The little warlock looked up at her. "Hello, Holly, how are you? Foaly said you were in a pretty bad way when he left you, and by bad I mean anguished, agonised, despairing–"

"I get it, Nº1."

Behind them, Foaly had unloaded the cart and was busy setting up a fat, microwave-sized machine on Holly's coffee table. He hummed tunelessly as he worked, his mouth drawn into a thin line of concentration.

Holly was confused. "The Retimager?"

Something sparked on the machine's panel and Foaly swore. "Nope," he said, sucking a finger. "The Retimager wouldn't be any use in investigating the validity of your dreams_._Even with Artemis's eye, there's nothing you've seen that he couldn't have seen elsewhere, on Mud Man TV or somewhere else, and we don't have any pictures of Annie." He flicked another switch and the machine whirred. "No, this is merely a distant cousin: the _Somnimager. _It monitors your brain activity, logs it via a program which registers neural patterns, and then converts said patterns into images. Of course it's really far more complicated than that but I don't reckon your brain could handle the specifics right now–"

Holly cut him off. "Foaly. I'm really not in the mood. What are you going to do? In plain Gnommish please."

The centaur repressed an eye-roll. "I'm going to show what you're thinking."

"_What?_"

"Only your subconscious thoughts! The Somnimager isn't advanced enough to show accurate images of _conscious _cogitations but it does a good job of showing _dreams_. I built it when my kid started having nightmares; I wanted to see exactly what it was that was scaring him."

Holly looked at the Somnimager. "So you think that with this thing–"

Foaly nodded. "We can observe your dreams. And with Nº1 here, I thought he could monitor whatever _psychic link _you think you've got with them."

Nº1 smiled at her encouragingly. "We're going to get to the bottom of this, Holly. We're here to help."

Holly's expression closed off. For some reason she felt suddenly hostile. Annie was hers. _Hers._

Someone whispered gently in her ear.

"Holly?"

The voice stopped.

Nº1 was watching her closely. "Holly? Are you alright?"

The elf looked straight past him to the centaur. "Okay. I'll let you watch me." Her voice was high, accented Irish. "But you're not going to like what you see."

* * *

Annie was waiting for her.

"I'm sorry," said Holly. "I didn't know they'd find a way to get to us."

The teenager shook her head. "Don't worry, Holly. They'll only come as far as I let them."

She smiled and disappeared.

Night had descended on Fowl Manor. The sky was clear, unveiled, showcasing stars which shone unusually bright. A teenage boy was staring at them from out his bedroom window. His phone was clenched tightly in his left fist. Holly could just make out the text on its front: _no new messages._

"Where are you?" muttered the boy, and he drew back from the window.

His room was empty but for him. A fire was crackling in the grate, casting contorted shadows onto every wall. As the boy began to the pace the carpet, his own silhouette curved from floor to ceiling: a twelve-foot behemoth in bespoke Armani. He glanced at the carriage-clock upon the mantle.

_Past midnight._

His stomach dropped another notch.

_Annie._

Artemis hadn't seen her since the night with the bodies – the night he had melted the objects of his childhood nightmares only to fall headfirst into a new nightmare of his own. He had been so ill. Oh so very ill. He had woken in the morning with half his body hanging out of the bed, his head drooping towards a bile-spattered waste-paper bin. With a grunt, and what would barely pass as a groan, he'd levered himself back onto the mattress and spotted a glass of water on his bedside table. There had been a shakily written note leaned against it.

_Gon home. Hope u are ok. Sory about last nite. Don no wat u remember. But dont wory about it. Ill c u soon._

_Anne_

The teenager had closed his eyes and pushed his aching skull back into his pillow.

His agony had relented little since then.

_We kissed. We_kissed_._

What did… what did that mean? For them? For how they were now to proceed?

_But don't worry about it._

Well he was worrying about it! How could he not? Was _she_worrying about it?

_Don't know what you remember._

So she _did_remember. Did she truly believe he had forgotten? Or was he meant to play along with that idea: pretend that he had no memory? Did she _want_ to think that he had forgotten? Or had she simply judged him so inebriated that night that she thought he was incapable of recollection?

_Does she think we made a mistake?_

Every day he observed couples in school. The Sixth form of St Bartleby's accepted female students, and almost every one of them had been snapped up and paired off within a week of term beginning. They kissed everywhere: on the lawns, in the corridors, in classrooms, even in store cupboards (as he had once unhappily discovered) and Artemis had heard many names for it: snogging, necking, _making out_. But making out _what_ precisely? How far a tongue could be pushed into another's mouth without triggering the gag reflex? It seemed to him to be a most pointless past time.

_But is that what we did? I… necked Annie?_

Artemis grimaced sharply. No. They hadn't done that. He couldn't call it that. He _wouldn't _call it that.

_But your tongue_–

_No_. But… but was that truly the crux of the matter? Had he been so terrible to kiss that she wanted him to pretend it hadn't happened? Was she taking pity on him? He had been so drunk. He had acted so completely on instinct and it had felt… it had felt… But was there some technique he was supposed to have applied? What was it he had written in those _terrible_novels?

_Alejandro looked at Cassie with genuine affection._

"_Oh, Cassie," he intoned. "Of all the women on earth, you are my favourite."_

"_Really?"_

"_Yes."_

_He conquered her mouth. Then, precisely thirty seconds later, he inserted his man-spear into her woman-sheath._

Artemis sank down into his armchair. Heat waved across his face and burned against the sallow skin of his cheeks. He looked down at his phone again.

No new messages.

She had told him she would see him soon. She had confirmed that fact in a new message he had received four days previously: a text, short and to the point.

_Comin friday. Callums not at home so dont want 2 b arownd. C u soon._

_Anne_

"Callum's not at home," whispered the thirteen-year-old.

He knew enough of Annie's home life to realise what significance that held. Callum was Annie's older half-brother. They shared a father in Harold Shinner but Callum's mother was Irina Kostovich, a gold-digging thirty-something who now travelled the world seeking loaded geriatrics to marry and fleece. Callum spent the majority of the time with his father in Dublin, but occasionally Irina would whisk him away, introduce him to a new beau and enlist his assistance in conning them. She would always drop him off again once she was finished, leaving Callum more heartbroken and bitter with every abandonment. Whenever Callum was away with his mother, Annie would be left unshielded against their father. Artemis had only ever glimpsed the resulting bruises.

He suspected that Harold Shinner had always beaten Annie, ever since she had been pushed into his life twelve years previously; the unwanted child of a prostitute he had frequented once too often. The truth was, Harold Shinner had almost dashed his daughter's head against a doorframe the moment her new-born body had been pushed into the world, her mother dying on the carpet behind, but he had restrained himself. After all, the birth was unrecorded. No one official knew the baby existed. The government couldn't check on her wellbeing or force her away into school. She was his to use as he wished; a proper little protégée. He had named her there and then after a phrase half-heard on the screaming radio and rammed her under his smoke-stained wing.

Artemis narrowed his eyes at the fire.

They had hardly spoken about it. Never properly. She had always steered the conversation away from herself, pulled a jumper over the marks on her arms; Harold Shinner was _her _problem, _hers._

_I should have pressed her. I should have forced her to let me help her. And now–_

A pain seared in his throat and his fists clenched. No. There would be a simple explanation for her absence. Why did his mind always jump to the most dramatic of conclusions?

_I didn't want to hurt her. I wanted to remain the escape._

He looked at the phone again.

No new messages.

He pressed it to his ear. The dial tone trilled three times before switching to voicemail. He cut the connection. The clock above the mantle-piece struck one.

Holly stood behind his hunched shoulders. His mind whirled through hers, a chaos of unuttered dreads and wild, half-made suggestions. Minutes passed. She suddenly felt a hand on her arm. The palm was small and rough. She turned and saw Nº1's ashen features.

_Holly! _he gasped, and then he was gone. There was a mild burning feeling where his fingers had touched her skin.

Before her, Artemis made his decision. He stood from his chair and swiftly began to gather what he would need.

* * *

Holly sat beside him in the darkened taxicab. The interior was warm, musky, tinged with the smell of cigarette smoke.

"Crook Lane, yeah?" asked the driver.

The teenager looked up. "Yes. Just keep straight ahead."

The driver grunted and drove on. Artemis had hired him twenty minutes earlier from a lucrative chauffeur service his father had sometimes used in the old days. Their cars were filthy, their drivers equally so, but they would also ferry you to any place you wanted without asking questions, regardless of what you put in their boots. Of course the thought had crossed his mind to simply use Butler, but that would have required too much explanation. It would have cost him time. Time he feared he might not have. So his bodyguard was now snoring a little louder than usual, tucked under his Spartan bedclothes back at the manor.

"Just here," said Artemis, unclipping his seatbelt.

The car pulled over and the teenager got out, pulling his hood up over his hair. He shoved a small, stuffed envelope through the driver-side window.

"Here's four hundred," he said lowly. "If you remain here for the next half hour they'll be another four to follow."

The driver quickly flicked through the notes and nodded. "Right cha' are."

Artemis set off down the pavement, with Holly following close behind. Grimy terraces lined both sides of the road, some boarded up, some missing roof tiles and doors. A car was jacked up in front of one, all four of its wheels missing, and someone had smashed all the windows of another. A tomcat was hissing in the shadows. Above him a street lamp spluttered, and somewhere in the dark houses ahead a radio was blaring.

_Charming_, thought Artemis grimly.

He scuffed a trainer on a crack in the flagstones, leaving a black streak along the rubber. It hardly mattered; they were wrecked already. He was dressed to match his environment, in a faded T-Shirt and over-worn hoodie that Annie had left behind on some past visit. The jogging-bottoms and plimsolls were his own, raided from the costume box he used to disguise himself on certain thefts. He had added a spattering of acne across his forehead and stained his teeth a dull yellow. The fake eyebrow-bar had been a last-second thought.

There was a shriek from ahead, a single burst of laughter that cracked, whip-like, into the night. Artemis looked out from under his greased fringe. He walked quickly towards the noise, turning down a side lane, the music growing ever closer. And then he saw it.

Harold Shinner's house was the only occupied building on the street. Dim light was glowing from two of its three floors along with shouts, cries and snatches of song. Music was blaring from downstairs, pop hits from the late last century. The sound of upbeat, carefree voices and rhythms felt out of place.

Artemis noticed someone staggering down the garden path. She was unsteady on three-inch heels, a beer-can in one hand, an unlit cigarette in the other.

"Aw, c'mon yer daft molly!" jeered the man following her. "Come back 'ere!"

"Feck off!" laughed the woman. "I've 'ad enough o' yer!" The she spotted Artemis. "Oi! You! You got a light fer me?"

Artemis walked closer, digging a hand into his pocket. He flicked back the lid of the golden zippo lighter and the woman leant her cigarette into it. She stood back and smiled gratefully, blowing her smoke away in a hurried stream.

"There." She smiled at the man at her shoulder. "Now _this _lad is a gentleman."

The man spat onto the pavement. He was almost wider than he was tall, with a ruddy nose and about four days of untrimmed beard growth. "What're ya looking fer boy?" he demanded. "If it's free booze ya' kun fuck right off!"

_Free alcohol? I never want to taste alcohol again._

Artemis gave his best impression of Annie under pressure, scowling and cocking his chin. "Callum told me t' come."

"Callum?"

"Harry's lad," whispered the woman in his ear.

The man sized Artemis up.

"Callum, ey?" Something flickered in the recesses of his coin-sized pupils. "Ah! Callum! Oh, feck aye! Yeah. Probably tanked up somewhere. No. An't he wit' that slut o' a mam o' his?"

"He teld me I gotta pick somefin up fer him while he's gone," said Artemis. "Said no one'd mind."

The woman pouted at the squat man. "Aw, Dara, let the poor lad by. He's ony trying ta do somefin fer a friend."

"He is in my arse!"

"_Dara_."

"I means it, Shelley! He could be trying ta rob ta feckin' place!"

"O' what? Go on, lad, get what it is that cha want."

Artemis slipped by. He could hear Dara and Shelley still arguing as he entered the house. People were laughing and staggering in the shadows, lurching in and out of a room to his left that stank of smoke and mildew. They were all older, mostly over thirty from what he could tell, though that may have been because of the darkness. He could hear shouting above the music, and the occasional slam of a door.

"Outta the way!" bellowed a voice, and Artemis was forced to flatten himself against the wall as a balding man holding a bottle in one hand and a broken bat in the other steamrollered down the stairs in front of him. The man ran, cackling, into the other room and there was a strangled yell. The music and the laughter didn't pause.

_Upstairs,_thought Artemis, pushing aside his rampant emotions. _She's probably upstairs._

He climbed upwards, ducking occasionally as fragments of shattering glass rained down on him from above.

"Get off!" screamed a voice and there was a loud thud.

Artemis whipped his feet out of the way as something heavy clattered past him down the stairwell. He looked up the stairs. There was a crashing from the shadows overhead and another yell.

He reached the landing, stepping over the broken bottles and what looked to be a pair of ripped leggings. He couldn't see anyone. He could only hear them, the pants and the screams, and the groans behind half-closed doors. Somewhere, someone was singing.

"_I saw the light on the night that I passed by her window! Dah dah dah dah!_"

Artemis mounted the second flight.

"_I saw the flickering shadows of love on her blind!_"

He took the steps two at a time. There was no glass, only the scuffed marks of boots having climbed this way and back for many years before him.

"_Sheeee_. _Waaaas_. _My womaaaan!_"

He reached the landing. There were only three doors in front of him. Somehow, he knew the only one ajar would be hers.

"_As she deceived me I watched and went out of my miiiind!"_

At first he didn't see her. It was dark inside and stank of damp and neglect. There was another smell too, something sickly and heavy that Artemis couldn't quite place. He reached a hand around the wall for a light-switch.

Within the dim glare of the single light bulb, not one part of the room was either undamaged or unstained. The walls were grey with mould, the wallpaper clinging in half-rotted ringlets to the plaster. There wasn't a bed, only a bobbled double-mattress with a sagging dip in the centre and a crumpled, half-ripped blanket. The wardrobe and what was left of a dressing table were both on their sides in the corner. There was a doorway at the far side of the room, a broken toilet bowl and the edge of a bathtub just distinguishable past its frame.

Crumpled on the bare-boarded floor, her fingers holding tight to her battered arms, was Annie. She wasn't looking at him. She was staring through purpled slits at a point just past his feet.

Artemis dropped to his knees on the stripped floorboards, putting his hands to her swollen face. She tried to pull away.

"_Annie_." She wouldn't look at him. "Annie, it's me," he croaked. He ripped his hood back from his head.

Her swollen mouth parted. "Art...?"

"Yes. Yes, that's right." He pulled the jumper over his head, laying it carefully over her. "And I'm going to get you out of here."

She sucked in a sudden gasp of air. "No!" she half-screamed, shoving him away. "No! You have to go! You have to go! He'll come back! He'll get you! He'll get you! _He'll get you_!"

She staggered to her feet, dark hair swinging wildly. She was wearing only her underwear and an ill-fitting T-Shirt, and for the first time Artemis noticed the damage done to her legs. She was covered in bruises and scrapes, angry blotches that flared from her ankles right up to the insides of her thighs: finger print-like bruises.

Annie noticed where his eyes had fallen and snatched his hoodie from the floor. She glared at him, clutching the material to her legs like a battle-shield.

All heat had drained from Artemis's limbs.

"Who?" he whispered.

She didn't answer, riding out his gaze.

"Who?" He got to his feet. "_Who?_"

The pain was scratched in every mark on her face. Anger burned there, as well as resentment, disgust and–

_Shame_.

His eyes widened. "No."

She must have seen it, the realisation on his face. Her breath hitched.

"No, _no_."

"_So, before, I come to break down the do-oooor!_"

There was a crash from behind them and suddenly they were no longer alone.

"_Forgive me, Delilah, I just couldn't take any mooore!_"

Their intruder bellowed out the last note, both hands raised high into the air, his almost toothless mouth sagging open. When he was finished he clapped his fat arms back to his sides.

"Tank you!" he boomed, with a clumsy bow. "I'm 'ere till Tursday…"

Grey, twisted chest hair poked through the top of Harold Shinner's shirt, a stretch-marked and beer-swollen stomach spilling from the bottom. He was unshaven, and possessed the rheumy eyes and elastic skin of a longtime alcoholic. His legs, short and slightly bowed, were clothed in brown trousers, scuffed shiny at both knees and scagged along the hemlines. His jacket was missing, and an empty gun-holster was rigged haphazardly over one shoulder.

At that moment, Artemis made his decision.

Shinner noticed Artemis's stares. "Who the–?" He cut off and gave a sharp, broken laugh. "You wanted some more, ey, girl? Feckin hell, you ony had ta ask and I'd a come back! You'd lie down and take it in the nettles wouldn'cha?"

Shinner continued to chuckle as he crossed the room, bending over the broken dresser and pulling a brown bottle of spirits free from a drawer. Artemis closed the door. When Shinner turned back around, his daughter had stopped her quivering and the pale boy with the eyebrow piercing was pointing a gun at his head.

His bloodshot eyes narrowed. "What the feck…?"

"Go to the bathroom," said the boy. He voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"What the _fuck_?" Shinner threw down the bottle, smashing it to the floor. Golden liquid pooled into the lines along the floorboards. He thrust a hand towards his attacker. "Who the feck's this?" he demanded.

Annie just stared at her father, her breath beginning to hitch again.

"Go to the bathroom," repeated the boy.

"You berrer put that feckin gun–"

_Click._The gun was cocked. Shinner's eyebrows shot up. "Gonna shoot me are you?" He laughed, staring incredulously at the scrawny figure in front of him. And then he realised. "Hell's bells," he whispered, taking in the black hair and the ice-cold eyes. "You're… You're Timmy's boy aren't cha?" He laughed again. "What the feck are _you _doin' 'ere?"

The gun advanced and the man was forced to take a sharp step back. He glanced once over his shoulder. Through the open door of his barely-used bathroom, he could see the pea-green, scum-layered bathtub, filled to the brim from months beneath a leaking roof.

He smiled at Artemis with teeth that were almost black. "What reason you got fer threatenin' me, eh? What harm as I done you?" Annie released a shaking sob from the corner and Shinner's grin widened. "The _girl_? Is _that_'ow it is, _Fowl_? Well, if it's really fer fuckin' that cha' want her, I'll warn yah, it's like pumpin' a dead whippet." He shook his head. "You won't shoot me. Yer smart like yer Daddy. You know that if you did there'd soon be a hundred men out lookin' for the man who pulled the trigger."

Artemis's voice was dead. "Ninety percent of accidents occur in the home."

A dart shot from the teenager's modified pistol, spiking into the skin of Shinner's gullet. The elder man slapped at his neck, wrenching the hypodermic out by the chamber, but it was too late. Artemis took two steps forward, swung his trainer up onto Shinner's planet-like stomach and kicked. The elder man stumbled through the bathroom door, hitting the backs of his knees against the side of the bath and toppling backwards into the turgid pool behind him. There was a tremendous bang and a splash, and stagnant water rose in a tsunami onto the floor. Annie screamed and Artemis stepped after Shinner, tucking the gun into the back of his waistband and slamming the door closed behind him. The room was thrown into darkness.

He could hear the man's arms flailing, splashing, his legs kicking over the tub's plastic sides. A sliver of light seeped from under the door and as the boy's eyes adjusted he saw the bath water darkening to scarlet. Shinner heaved his torso half out of the water, gasping for breath and blood pouring from the gash in his head.

"_Fowl!_" he choked. "I'll kill you! I'll–"

But by this time Artemis had approached the bathtub and, lacing small fingers into his thinning hair, forced him back under. Shinner screamed silently, a stream of bubbles rising from his mouth like froth from an underwater volcano. Water continued to slap over his face and front but the boy could feel the drug slowly beginning to take its effect, sapping the strength from Shinner's limbs. The batting and punching of the man's arms slowed, his wrists flicking like the tails of dying fish. His legs twitched, knocking pathetically against Artemis's knees. The teenager sank his arms into the water. He undid the man's belt, dragging his waistband under his body and out over the side of the tub. He let the boots fall with a _bang _against the bath's side and then stood back, his hands dripping.

Shinner's jaw muscles were twitching in the half-light; his limbs jerking like a haunted marionette. Artemis watched, waited…

And then he was still.

Holly was stood between the toilet and the sink, a hand clamped over her mouth to muffle the scream. She was quivering from head to toe, her back pressed to the wall.

Artemis took several steady breaths before pushing the door open with a creak. Annie was waiting in the light. She stood in the centre of the room, looking at her friend with an expression torn between fear and quiet reverence.

He found it hard to meet her gaze. "Get my jumper." She moved away, and he pulled his T-Shirt over his head, stepping back and wringing it out over Shinner's wide-eyed corpse.

Annie clutched the sweatshirt in her hand.

He pointed at the floorboards, where the crimson-tinged liquid from the tub had spilled over and flooded a portion of the bedroom. "Lay it down there, but not in the water. Then go to the wardrobe and get me some dry trousers." He toed off his trainers and began peeling down his tracksuit bottoms.

She cranked back the plywood doors and searched through her and her father's scarce belongings. Artemis gave his hair a last few squeezes. Then, with one hand braced on the door frame, he vaulted over the pool that had settled out of the bathroom doorway and pushed himself on the splayed hoodie. He made sure he was steady before holding out his hand for the clothes, apparently Annie's own, and pulling them on quickly. There were no drips.

"Bag?" asked Annie.

"If you have one."

She pulled one of her old, love-heart graffitied backpacks from the closet and passed it to him. He stuffed his own sodden shirt, trousers and shoes into it, and after a last few pads on the hoodie, trying to remove every last bit of water from his sodden feet he could manage, stepped off onto the floor. Annie held the bag as he pulled the sweatshirt back over his head and jerked up the hood.

"No one should see the wet on the black," said Artemis. He swallowed. "No one should… My feet and clothes aren't dripping. Without a trail, no one should have reason to suspect the involvement of a third person–"

Annie pressed a hand to his arm. "Shoes?"

He nodded. The trainers she handed him were two sizes too small. He stamped them on, one hand braced on Annie's shoulder. She held him steady until he stepped away from her.

"Get back on the floor."

She retreated to the wall, lying down in the exact spot where he had first found her. She lay with her arms and legs eschew.

"Like this?" she asked.

"Yes. Good."

He pulled the gun out from the back of his waistband and checked that the chamber hadn't been permeated with water.

"Thank you," said Annie quietly.

Artemis looked up from his pistol. "Don't thank me," he whispered. "Please…Not for this."

She shook her head.

He blinked once, took aim, and fired. Annie's head slumped against the skirting board, the sedative taking control of her ill-nourished body far quicker than it had her father's. Artemis knelt and pulled the dart gently from her arm before pocketing it, glancing back briefly towards the bathroom. He could see Shinner's limp, bare legs hanging over the side of the tub. It was how Shinner's friends would find him later: his daughter, beaten, knocked unconscious against the wall, and then Shinner himself, drowned, with his trousers gathered about his ankles, too drunk to stand steady when taking a piss: the fool's own fault.

Artemis swung the backpack over his shoulder, feeling the damp already beginning to seep through the hemp. He took the stairs carefully. Noises returned to him; the shouts and the singing that he had been temporarily deafened to. Better smells came in through his nose and filled his lungs, clean air drifting from the open front door only slightly masked by tobacco smoke. As he left the house he saw two familiar figures swaying and groping each other by the gate.

"Well would cha look who's it is!" bawled Dara, pointing unsteadily and spilling half his beer. "It's yer man, Shelley! Yer knight with the feckin lighter!"

Shelley squinted briefly before her weathered features split into a smile. "And so it is! How are yah, lad? Did yah get what it was that cha came for?"

The couple waited for him to answer, both their pupils swollen to the size of hubcaps.

"Aye," said Artemis, flicking up his hood. "I did."

* * *

He can see the curve to the world here: the inside of the air. He's out, up, beyond the sun and then plunging to the floor. The world beneath his back is turning.

"_Shit. Shit– No, don't move him!"_

Faces smile and twist themselves into butterflies. They fly away with wings wrought of words and cello concertos. He smells pomegranate. It laughs at him and shoves him away. He spins.

"_Is the ambulance here yet?"_

The colours are waving at him. Purple winks, yellow grins, and a nasty shade of scarlet scowls and gives him the finger.

"_They're on their way. Graham's just trying to get a hold of his parents."_

The colours have turned. They're jostling each other, fighting to get to him. Green screams at turquoise and black opens its mouth wide.

"_What are they going to do when they see this?_"

"_He's waking up!"_

"_Artemis? Artemis, can you hear me?"_

The world is rushing together; paint running up a canvas.

"_Okay, Artemis, try to stay still."_

"Nuh…"

Sound became clearer as if his head had surfaced from a pool.

"Just stay calm. The ambulance is on its way."

He didn't understand.

"Have we got a coat? Something we can put over him?"

Something rustled over his torso.

His tongue felt fat and heavy in his mouth. "Waz… Waz 'appen?"

"You're… You've…"

"There's been an incident, Artemis."

"Incy…wha?"

_Incy wincy spider climbed up the water spout._

He wanted to giggle.

"Just lie still."

No.

"Artemis–"

"_Ah!_"

Pain hit him and suddenly scarlet was swearing again. Then the world was back. His eyelids wrenched open.

**THE NEXT THING WE REMOVE IS THE NECK.**

"Wha?" he gasped, blinking erratically. "What?"

The words stared down at him from the ceiling above. He didn't understand them.

"Artemis, you need to lie _still_!"

He closed his eyes, his mouth twisting, his head rolling to the side. When at last his eyelids slid up, his gaze landed on a mass of white. He stared at it, confused.

_Toilet paper...?_

He looked away and tried to sit up, but the pain caused him to cry out.

"Artemis! For God's sake, Geoff, where are the paramedics?"

His head settled back to the side.

The white mass had moved closer.

"Wha?" he gasped. "Wha?"

"Artemis–"

He tried to get away but the white followed and the agony increased.

"Artemis!" shouted a voice. "You're going to hurt yourself!"

He groaned, half sob, half whine.

_Get away!_

He tried to swing his arm out but the pain reached such a degree his eyes rolled back in his head. He lay there, panting, fighting for consciousness.

"It's alright, Artemis," said a second voice. "Just stay calm, there's a good lad."

Artemis stared blearily at the mass beside his head. He squinted.

_Bandages_.

Then he realised that was all he could see. He couldn't see his hand, his wrist, or his forearm. He could feel his shoulder beneath his chin and see the start of his pale bicep. Then there were only the bandages. His elbow disappeared into them, then—nothing.

His brow furrowed.

"Where...?"

There was a pause.

"Where... Where the rest?"

His gaze flicked up to the two teachers hovering beside him. They exchanged a glance.

"Artemis–"

His breath was coming faster now. He couldn't seem to make himself speak right. "Where... Where the rest... arm?"

"Artemis, please try to stay calm–"

"_Where is my arm?"_

The words seemed to ring in the room, and the faces silently gaped at him.

He looked down from his shoulder.

Bandages.

Pain.

The scarlet was back.

And suddenly he could hardly breathe for screaming.

* * *

**Annnnd, I'm officially evil! But in good company with the already twisted Ceilo Crimisi, and the newly tainted Rocket Axxonu! Thanks so much guys! Seriously, both of you went above and beyond in beta-ing this - couldn't have asked for better. **

**In the next chapter: Artemis forgets a lot of things - but not his birthday (Ha! Subtle.)**

**Please be kind and leave a review! You've all been so fantastic at it so far!**

**And you know you want this thing updated quickly...there's only three chapters to go.**

**On another note: You're all probably WAY ahead of me on this, but if you haven't started reading it, go and read "The Other Paradox" by Rocket Axxonu. It's by far and away one of the best on-going fics currently live on the site and if you love a bit of Holly - go and READ. You'll find the link to it on my "favourite stories" list on my profile but otherwise I think it's still on the first page of updates... Enjoy! :)**

**But review this first.**


	13. Chapter 13 Burnt

**RESTRICTED ACCESS  
Document – 2568799  
Patient No. 55555 (AFII)  
Day ***  
Verbal Log (extract)**

Dr.A – And then you left for Italy?

A – Yes.

Dr.A – You just left her there? In the rain?

A – Yes.

Dr.A – And did you mean it?

_Pause._

Did you mean what you said to her?

_Pause._

A – At the time.

Dr.A – And now?

_Pause._

Dr.A – Okay, Artemis, I want you to tell me what happened next.

A – You know what happened next. You have read the files. Half of Haven has read the selected version in their morning digi-papers.

Dr.A – Yes, but I want _you_ to tell me now. What happened when you returned from Hybras?

_Pause._

Dr.A – Artemis?

_Pause._

Dr.A – Artemis, we agreed on complete honesty. That's what will cure you. It is no use avoiding things.

_Pause._

A – You don't understand. You are… you are the first person I have ever talked to about… about this. About her.

Dr.A – I know it is painful.

_Laughter._

A – Painful?

_Pause._

Dr.A – In your own time.

_Pause._

A – I…

_Pause._

I reached the manor at six am.

_Pause._

It was… a cold morning for the season and the house hadn't looked particularly appealing.

_Pause._

Then again, neither had I.

_Pause._

Butler had driven me straight from the cottage in Duncade and I hadn't showered or changed my clothes. I was exactly as I was the moment I had left the time stream: muddied, exhausted… and in desperate want of a bed.

_Pause._

Dr.A – Go on.

_Pause._

A – As… As soon as we had come in sight of the main steps my mother had run out screaming. She'd wrenched the door of the car open and pulled me down into her arms. I saw my father over her shoulder and I… I distinctly remember wondering why he had not approached the car as she had. My thoughts were then distracted however by my mother's sudden bawling.

'_Where have you been? Why didn't you contact us?_' she'd sobbed, not caring, not _noticing,_ I suspect, that my clothes were soiling the front of her robe.

I could hardly have told her the truth. So I said nothing, and Butler had prised her from me muttering something about us all going inside.

As we moved towards the main doors I glanced up to the second floor windows: where I knew she would be watching if she was in wait for me. She wasn't there. I dismissed her lack of presence as simple caution on her part and moved further into my home.

Once seated in the family lounge my mother's questions had begun again.

'_Why haven't you come home sooner?'_

'_Was someone stopping you?'_

'_Why is your face the same?'_

'_Fairies, why did Butler tell us about fairies?'_

Throughout my mother's barracking, my mind had wandered again to her and my own many questions.

Did she hate me? I knew, without a doubt, that I could never hate her. We were one and the same. We always had been. And she had paid for our mistakes with three years apart.

_Pause._

I turned to my mother then as if returning from a dream and made sure to retain eye contact.

That first time I admit that it hurt.

Dr.A – What had hurt?

A – The magic. Calling the magic that I'd stolen.

'But, Mother,' I had implored, and this time my voice shook with the power of the _Mesmer_. 'My absence was nothing to worry about. It was simply a family matter and should not be mentioned again.'

'_No_,' she had told me. _'No, Artemis, this is not to be born. You were gone for three years and I have been out of my mind with worry.'_

_Pause._

Magic, I believe, is a conscious entity. And in that moment it rejected me, punished me even, worming cracks into my sub-consciousness that would later become foundations for the Complex. However, like the fool I was and still am, I continued to smother my mother's reason with unyielding force.

'There was no need to worry, Mother,' I told her. 'I was always safe. There is no need to worry now. I don't look the same as I left. I look fourteen years old, as I should.'

Butler had stood in the doorway, watching me.

Dr.A – He did not intervene?

A – No. Why would he break the habit of a lifetime? I had simply continued to force the magic onto her.

'_Fourteen,_' my mother had said. '_You are fourteen, as you should be_.'

Father had stirred then. He had finally drawn himself away from whatever something had been occupying his thoughts up to that point and chosen to look at me.

'_What are you doing?_' he had demanded. '_What are you telling her?_'

I turned my gaze on him and looked into the eyes that I then only half shared.

'I am telling her not to worry about my late absence,' I said, and tears had sprung in my eyes, not from guilt but from pain. 'You shouldn't worry either, Father. I am nothing out of the ordinary. If anyone is to ask about me you shall simply explain that it is a family matter.'

'_A family matter?_'

'Yes. A family matter.'

I wondered briefly whether I should mesmerise Butler to complete the set. Would it have comforted him to forget my absence?

Dr.A – Would it?

A – I do not know. At that moment I decided against it.

'Sleep,' I had ordered my parents, 'and when you wake nothing shall be amiss.'

Both Mother and Father had immediately slumped into the cushions.

I checked them, making sure they were both fully unconscious. My mouth, however, was already screaming for her.

'_Annie?_' Butler had repeated as I'd passed by him from the room. '_Artemis. Artemis!_'

If he spoke after that then I have no memory of it. I had taken the stairs three at a time by that point just screaming and screaming… and screaming.

As I ran I thought. I thought in a way that I believe only I can think.

Dr.A – Only you–?

A – Where was she? What had been done to her? What had _I_ done to her? A hundred different questions all colliding at once.

They had chased each other around about my mind. Round and round and round… and round.

My bedroom, I had run to my bedroom. I was so certain she would be there. But she wasn't. I felt then the beginnings of the feelings that would claim me later. That would consume me.

I ran to the bed. It was creased on only one side, traditionally my side. I seized hold of the covers and held them to me. Her scent was knotted in every stitch.

Butler had appeared behind me. He had said something. But I was too busy demanding my own needs to listen.

'Give me your phone.'

He had spoken again. I remember my confusion. Why was the phone not in my hand? Why was he still talking?

I resorted to a level of communication that I had never used with him before and simply shouted at him.

'Give me your phone!'

He had moved back then, as if my words were bullets, and the phone had appeared instantly in my palm. I tried her number but quickly found that it was no longer in service. That was to be expected; after all I had been away almost three years. I realised then that she would be seventeen.

Seventeen years old.

I quickly tried her brother's number and it had begun to ring.

A familiar voice had answered on the fourth double-chime.

'_Hello?_'

'Callum?' I had blurted, without much care for composure. 'Callum, is that you?'

'_Who is this?_'

'It's Artemis Fowl. The Second. I'm sorry to bother you, after... after all this time, but I can't contact your sister. Would you be able to give me her details?'

There was a long pause, ended finally by a laugh.

'_Is this a wind up?_' he had said, '_because if this is, you are one dead mother-fucker_.'

By that point there wasn't room in my mind for confusion, and so I spoke only to contradict him.

'No Callum, this is not a joke. I desperately need to speak with your sister.'

He had laughed again.

'_Ha. Yeah. Well that's gonna be a bit of a problem.'_

I should have realised then. I should have understood. I simply hadn't considered the option.

Dr.A – The option?

A – 'Callum, please, I really need to speak with her.'

'_Oh really? You want to speak to her now do you? Y'know, I actually do believe it's you, Fowl. Only you could be this fucking twisted.'_

'Twisted? Callum–'

'_She's dead, you bastard._'

_Pause_.

I can't quite...

_Pause_.

I can't quite… _explain_ what I felt in that instant. It was... impossible, ineffable.

Pause.

I instantly rejected it.

'No, she's not.'

Callum had snorted.

'_Oh yeah? Like you don't know. Like you're not fucking glad of it. You just took off, disappeared! You never gave a shit about her! You left her behind like something you'd just scraped off your boot. And she waited for you, Fowl! She hung around your fucking house, calling your fucking phone, drifting around like some lost puppy, pining away – for you!_'

My mind had readily provided the images. I watched as she paced my room, ran her hands over her face, pulled at her clothes, at her hair. I remembered my bed and how there was only a mark on one side. I pictured her lying there, clutching our sheets.

I had shut my eyes tight.

'You're wrong, Callum.'

'_I wish I was. That way I would be watching her kill you right now for what you did. Christ! If she knew you were talking to me now she'd rip you limb from fucking limb._'

There had still been a block within my mind, a simple fact that had contradicted his every word.

'Annie...' I had whispered. 'Annie cannot die without me. When she goes I go.'

Callum's rage had been complete. '_Stop talking about her as if you give a shit! You weren't here! You weren't here when-!'_

His voice had broken. My mouth had asked the question.

'When she what?'

He had swallowed.

'_When she burnt.'_

_Pause_.

Dr.A – Artemis?

_Pause_.

Dr.A – Artemis?

A – Annie Shinner died sixteen days before my return from Hybras.

Pause.

Sixteen days.

Pause.

I have since read the official forensics report and the multiple newspaper articles that have covered her death.

I need not have bothered.

Callum told me there and then everything there was to know.

You know I see her, Doctor. I see her enter the house of her father. I see her, as she heaves the petrol can to her shoulder, as she carelessly douses it all: the curtains, chairs, carpets, the ceilings. Her feet are ever light, always bare.

When she reaches her father's room, _that _room, she lifts the tank above her head and upends it. Her hair flattens to her head and liquid trails from her clothes, her mouth. She holds the lighter. She snaps it back. She looks at me. She looks at me with _those_ eyes.

And she drops it.

_Pause_.

_'And_ d_o you know how they identified her, Fowl? Do you know the only thing that was left? Her teeth. Her fucking teeth!'_

I had just stood there.

'_And she was at your house, Fowl! Right before the end! She went to your house right before she did it, looking for you! But you weren't there were you, you bastard? You weren't there!'_

I had dropped the phone.

Callum Shinner was still shouting at me but I could smell her now. Somewhere she was calling to me.

I approached the bed and reached my hands into the sheets.

I crawled across them, to the left-hand side, my side, to where her scent was the strongest.

I dropped my face to the pillow, smothering myself, ensuring my every breath was her.

She had lain there. She had lain there and clutched to me in the same way I was now clutching to her.

I had cried out. I couldn't help it.

I had known there would be consequences. I had said I would take them. But I couldn't.

I still _can't_.

She is everywhere. In my clothes, in the walls, inside my very chest, pounding her fists against my ribcage.

Right then she was looking at me. Straight at me.

I began to scream. Hands had gripped me, restrained me.

'_Artemis!_' a voice had shouted. '_Artemis, please!_'

I pushed against the arms that were holding me, lashed at them, cried out all the more. But soon my strength had failed me.

'_Artemis_.'

Butler's hands had cradled me.

'She's gone! She's gone!'

He had rocked me like an infant.

'_Shhh,_' he'd whispered. '_Artemis..._'

_Pause._

And the sun had risen fully by the time I'd got to my feet.

'Look at me,' I whispered, and Butler had stared up at me. 'You are to go back to your room,' I told him, once more using the power of the _Mesmer_, 'and forget all about this. You are to go to bed and go to sleep and forget... forget about...'

Butler had swayed, his mouth twitching. He knew he was being enchanted.

'_About_...?'

'About everything. About anything you have witnessed today... out of the ordinary. I have come back, after almost three years of absence, to find you in your cottage. You have taken me home. I have modified the memories of both my parents and have gone to bed to rest. Nothing else has happened. Everything is... fine.'

He had stood then, towering over me as usual.

'_Fine_,' he had repeated. '_Everything is... fine_.'

My mind was praying to shut down. I listened to him walk from my room.

I managed to reach the armchair that always stood beside my bookcase. I sank into it and out of the corner of my eye I saw the bed.

The sheets were stained a heavy crimson.

I turned my face away but the image still burned behind my eyes.

It has burnt there ever since.

_Pause_.

Now she's standing right behind you.

**End verbal extract**

* * *

**_'I'm sorry, but could we please go back to the whole 'Artemis murdering someone' thing? I have a feeling we shouldn't just skip over that.'_**

* * *

Chapter Thirteen - Burnt

The doctor sighed. "Well, there really isn't anything I can do." He lowered the stump back to the bed. "It's a professional job; textbook elbow disarticulation. The amputation area is neat; the bone has been properly sawn and filed. And whoever transposed and stapled the muscle flaps is a surgical _genius_. If you ever do find out who did this, tell them I want their CV!" He chuckled to himself as he unravelled some fresh dressings.

"When we find who did this," said Artemis Senior quietly, "they shall need all their medical skill for themselves."

In the corner, Butler said nothing. Angeline stroked her son's remaining hand, her skin, for once, paler than his.

The doctor wrapped the wound quickly and tightly. "Since you've declined to keep him in a hospital, I've prescribed a few boxes of oxycodone and some fentanyl just in case the pain breaks through. I can't say that things are going to be very comfortable for him for the next few days – just make sure he doesn't put any pressure on that arm, and keep him drinking. And those bandages need to stay on for another five days before they're changed. I'd advise hiring a professional nurse or a–"

"Butler will attend to all his needs."

The doctor glanced at the suited behemoth beside the window. "I'm… sure he will." He placed the painkillers on the bedside table, and clasped the clip of his bag.

"Thank you, Doctor Wittstein," said Artemis Senior, extending a hand. "Please allow my wife to show you out."

Angeline looked up. "Timmy, I would rather–"

"Angeline."

The woman's lips tightened but she released her son's hand. Artemis senior waited until the door had closed behind them before turning to Butler.

"I want them found," he said, his blue eyes clear and sharp. "I don't care what it takes. I don't care if we have to dig up every contact we have or ever _had_. I want this _Neck_ severed, his head on a pike, before the week is out."

Butler stepped clear of the shadows. "Do we have anything to go on, sir?"

"A little. Too little." The Fowl Patriarch clasped his hands behind his back, treading the same route his son did at times of frustration. "I suspect that Arty–" He glanced down at his eldest son. The teenager's eyes were closed, his breathing slow and steady.

Butler followed his gaze. "Sir." He hesitated. "Sir, I… I have failed in my duty. Artemis is mine to protect and–"

"You weren't there. You were twenty miles away at my own insistence so if anyone has failed in their duty of care it is _I_. As soon as I knew that he had begun to dabble in criminality I should have reinstated you in his school. I assumed that there he would be safe. Safe among… among _children_. What _monster_ –?"

"Father…?"

Artemis's voice was faint, groggy. Both men were immediately at his side.

"Artemis," started Butler. "How are you feeling? Are you in pain?"

The boy didn't answer. He was breathing raggedly through his mouth, his eyelids barely managing to open. He gazed around, confused, and then caught sight of his bandages. He gave a weak moan.

"Arty," said his father, the pain clear in his voice. "Son–"

"I… _arm_…"

"I know. I know."

"_Why_…?"

Artemis Senior shared a glance with his son's manservant. "You don't need to think about that now, Arty. You just need to rest and recuperate."

The teenager's eyes rolled and he flopped out his left hand. "Phone."

Butler frowned. "It's on your cabinet, Artemis, but you're in no state to be making phone calls."

"_Text_."

"Nor texts."

Artemis Senior smoothed a hand over his son's forehead. "You need to _sleep_, Arty. We want you back to your old self again."

The teenager could only look at him and breathe.

"Come, Butler," said the elder Fowl, standing. "We're disturbing him. He needs quiet."

The manservant bent beside his charge's head before he left, pressing a small device into his palm. "Squeeze it if you need me," he said lowly, looking into Artemis's unsteady eye-line.

The boy had been given a lot of pain-killers at the hospital and Butler knew they were obstructing his thoughts, dulling his usually razor-sharp wits. Unknown analgesics had been used to knock him out and numb him before his amputation; whoever had done it had done it humanely, apparently. Not to mention the sedatives administered when the paramedics had arrived to find him raving, screaming, near hyperventilating on the floor of the misused classroom. Butler had been spared that sight. He had seen Artemis in similar fits before, far too often, during the stages of his Atlantis Complex treatment. They were among his most painful memories.

The manservant hesitated before brushing his own, pipe-like, fingers across the teenager's brow. "I'm…" He swallowed. "I'm sorry, Artemis."

Then he stood and passed from the room.

Artemis lay there in the silence, his stump throbbing dully. He felt heavy, as if a force of invisible hands were pushing him, hard, into the mattress. His own breath rattled in his ears. He closed his eyes and immediately felt a wrench at his consciousness. His eyelids flew open.

_Leech_, he remembered faintly. _Who's your momma?_

He flopped his head to the left. There, just where Butler had said it would be, was his mobile phone.

Battling every weight in his muscles, he moved his left arm across the sheets. Soon he had to stop to pant; there was just too much drag. He looked back, gritted his teeth, and shifted the stump onto his hip. The effort brought water to his eyes but he blinked the black away and inched his left fingers closer to the table. His hand hit wood and then he had it.

He managed to unlock the menu on the sixth attempt and open the messaging app. His thumb smudged against the screen.

_Wat jkdid the*7 Nek tak 6frm u?_

He fumbled the send icon and waited.

A short while later the phone buzzed. He squinted at the screen, his head beginning to sink again.

**One new message**

**Sender: Toulouse Brannagh**

He clicked it open.

_My leg._

And surrendered to the darkness.

* * *

Holly woke screaming.

"It's alright!" yelled Foaly, leaning over her, his hands pressing on her arms. "It's alright! Holly! Holly, calm down!"

"Did you see? _Did you see her?_"

No.1's gargoyle features bobbed into view. "Yes! I saw her! I saw you as well! I was in Artemis's room, and I stood behind you, and then I touched your arm–"

"_Did you see Artemis murder Shinner?"_

There was a strained silence. Both Foaly and No.1's eyes bulged. Then– "_What_?"

Holly deflated. "You didn't see it?"

"No!" exclaimed No.1. "No, we didn't see anything– anything like _that_. What– What are you talking about? Artemis _wouldn't_–"

"But I felt you. I remember _seeing_ you."

"A girl came. She shouted at me. She was really angry and told me I was interfering–"

"I'm sorry," interrupted Foaly, "could we just go back to the whole 'Artemis murdering someone' thing – I have a feeling that we shouldn't just _skip_ over that."

Holly sat up sharply. "Artemis murdered Annie's father," she explained. "He went to her house and found out that he'd been beating her, _raping_ her, so he drowned him in the bath and made it look like an accident."

There was a pause. No.1 looked scandalised, horrified, whereas Foaly only sighed.

"Yep," he drawled. "Sounds consistent."

"_What_?" Sparks actually crackled at the tips of the little demon's horns. "What are you-? What are you _talking_ about? Artemis wouldn't do that! He _wouldn't_!"

Foaly looked at him pityingly. "To be fair No.1, Artemis has done some pretty mucked up stuff in these dreams. Drowning rapists in a bath would actually be one of his more believable and morally-acceptable escapades–"

"Foaly, stop it," snapped Holly. "Ignore him, No.1. Didn't either of you see anything on the Somnimager?"

The centaur pursed his lips and turned back to his invention. "_Something_ appeared on the screen," he said, tapping a few buttons. "It was mostly just a mess of interference, but it was definitely _something_. Before, I… I _could_ see you in Artemis's room. I was following him right along with you. Then No.1 managed to materialise and he..." The centaur suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"What?" whispered Holly, dreading the reply.

"She spoke through me," said the little demon. "Annie took my mouth and used me before I could get out of the trance."

Holly felt as if she'd been punched. "What did she say?"

"She warned me. She told me that it wasn't time for me to see yet."

Holly took a few steadying breaths.

_What do I do? What does she want from me now?_

She could feel No.1's eyes boring into her cheek. His face was a picture of child-like despair, his scaly mouth almost comically down-turned. She didn't want to look at him.

"Foaly," she said sharply, swinging her legs back onto the bed. "Put the Somnimager back on. We'll try again."

The centaur whinnied, his forelegs actually rearing off the floor. "_What_? Are you _serious_? That girl, that _thing_, near _possessed_ No.1 _and_ showed you Artemis killing someone! _Again!_"

The little demon clapped his hand over his ear-holes. "Stop saying that! We know that can't be true!"

"But it _is_ true," insisted Holly. "I was there and I saw him do it." She pulled the plungers of the Somnimager towards her. "Foaly, how the d'arvit do you turn this thing on?"

The centaur sat down firmly on her sofa. "I don't want a part of this. I should never have brought No.1 here. I should have phoned Argon's clinic the _moment_ I left you."

"You still think I'm crazy? You've seen Annie on one of your stupid computer screens, you've _heard_ her talk through No.1 and you still think this is just in my head?"

"I think it's _evil_!" retorted Foaly, his dark eyes flashing. "Yes, I was making light of it a moment ago; I didn't know what else to say! But we are talking about one of our _friends_ here, Holly. Artemis. Artemis _murdering _people. Can't you see that it's wrong?"

"I _told_ you! I'm seeing these things for a reason. Just because you're _scared_–"

"_Aren't you?_"

"Stop it!" screamed No.1, and several glass tumblers exploded inside Holly's kitchen cabinets. The elf's ribcage shuddered, her organs to trembling dangerously. She gasped and clapped a hand to her heart.

"Listen to yourselves," snapped the demon, his magic slowly dissipating from the air in purple spirals. "Can't you hear what this is doing to you?"

Foaly only glared at his old friend. "I can see what it's doing to _her_."

No.1 turned back to the elf. "Holly, are you sure you want to do this? I'll… I'll try again if you want me to but…"

"She'll let you in this time," she said quickly. "Last time was… personal. But I think things are coming that she wants you to know. She won't hurt you. I'm sure of it."

"Foaly?"

For a moment the centaur remain unmoved, his hairy arms folded tightly to his chest. Then he slumped. "Alright," he said. "I'll reboot the Somnimager. But if I see anything _death-related_ or _freaky_then I'm pulling the plug."

Holly lay down again. No.1 repositioned himself by her head, massaging his own scaly temples with the tips of his fingers. Foaly worked quickly, pummelling buttons and turning knobs, handling his instruments with far less care than usual.

"Ready?" asked the centaur, still obviously unhappy.

The elf nodded, and the plungers sucked once more to her eye-sockets.

* * *

Holly appeared in the centre of a busy fish restaurant. Customers chatted, laughed, in some cases fought as waiters and waitresses weaved their way between the tables, balancing platters or tipping champagne bottle expertly over their arms. Lobster shells cracked and soup slooped, fish fumes and ladies perfumes mixing and searing up Holly's nostrils. It was enough to make her light-headed.

"I'm sorry."

The elf looked round. Annie stood before her, clearer now than she'd ever been. A plate smashed behind them and there was a cry of anger.

Holly frowned. "What for?"

A man at table six clicked his fingers. "_Ici __garçon__!_"

Annie shook her head. "I… haven't been treating you right. He would be angry at me."

"_Yes, sir_," inquired the maître de. "_Is there any way that I can serve you?_"

Holly was confused. "Who?"

"There isn't much left, don't worry. My life didn't last very long, and I'm only showing you the bits that matter… to me."

"Why?" asked Holly, ignoring the chaos of the restaurant going on around them.

"_If the scallops are not to Sir's satisfaction I would be happy to send them back to the kitchens._"

A tear crawled down the girl's cheek. "Hopefully he'll… he'll forgive me in the end."

"Why? What end? Annie! _Annie!_" Holly reached out to her. She was almost touching her, _almost_–

The short, white suited man at table six laid a speckled hand flat to the tablecloth. "Listen kid," he was saying. "I like you. In a couple of years you could have been just like me. But did you ever put a gun to someone's head and pull the trigger?"

The teenager opposite him didn't answer. He was better dressed than the last time Holly had seen him: cleaner, bereft of piercings, with his hair freshly cut and his skin clear of spots.

_I put a foot in his stomach, _he thought, _and kicked him through a door._

The Chicagoan smirked. "No?"

The bodyguard put a hand on his young charge's shoulder, shifting him slightly to the left.

Holly's heart was speeding. She knew this scene. She had been told this one before and she knew very well how it ended. She looked around her for the dark-haired girl.

"Annie!"

"_No!_" shouted a man at a seemingly ruffled waiter. "_I would not prefer the crayfish! I ordered scallops and I damn well want scallops!"_

Someone clicked their fingers.

The heads of the maître de and the arguing diner both snapped to the left. They stood. Every diner on the restaurant floor rose to their feet, cocking weapons and flipping off safety catches. Every customer, every server, even two chefs stood in the door to the kitchens, was pointing a firearm of some form across the room at table six.

The new silence seemed almost to echo.

Spiro chuckled. "Check and mate. My game, kid."

Holly's eyes darted from gunman to gunman. The tension was building. The American was walking away. Over forty barrels were pointing in their direction.

_I must say something now or we shall both die._

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," said the thirteen year old. "I'm sure we can come to an arrangement…"

The world ran like paint dribbling down a ruined canvas. A strange wind caught at the drips, causing them to tremor, briefly, before being whipped away into the dark. Holly remained where she was, watching the restaurant shift in a whirl of colour and time. Words were yelled, whispered in the cyclone.

"_Rainbow_."

The air was blasted apart. Holly jammed her eyes shut as her hair was slapped across her face. She raised her arms.

A boy was smiling.

"_We really must talk regarding your salary…"_

_Crack_.

Holly's chest jerked back as if she was the one who had been shot. This time the world slowed. Man and boy ploughed into the desserts trolley: a mash of pastry, sponge, syrup, and blood so dark it was almost black.

"_Call me… Domovoi._"

The elf felt her heart fracture with the boy's own. He was crying now, his world as unsteady as hers.

"_Goodbye, Domovoi. Goodbye, my friend._"

A hand dropped.

"No!"

_No._

_No._

_No._

The word broke inside Holly, shattering her into a thousand pieces. She was scattered, fallen, strewn.

"_Do not be alarmed. I am a friend to the People. My name is–"_

"_I know what your name is."_

Heat rose up inside of her. She was standing over a metal coffin, her eyes glassy in the industrial lighting.

"_When are you going to learn, Mud Boy? Your little schemes have a tendency to get people hurt!"_

_I know it's my fault_, thought the boy._I know, damn you. And if this doesn't work then Blunt will be getting a second chance to finish the job he started!_

A coin is raised, shining light in her face. The light spreads from her finger-tips. Around her, the world melts. For some, it ages. Holly blinks and suddenly the restaurant vanishes...

He is sat in the centre of an unfurnished room, legs crossed, a voice recorder perched on the straw mat before him. The window rattles and his eyes shoot open. Annie Shinner is heaving herself up over the sill, the lace of her trainer caught in the latch. She swears and stretches back to detach it before falling hard onto the tatami flooring. Artemis is there to help her back to her feet.

"You came."

"Yeah," she replies, brushing dark hair out of her eyes. The swelling has reduced across both of her cheeks, the bruising only a dull yellow. "Though you could have given me a bit more warning. I thought you was in London."

"No, and I'm sorry. I don't have much time."

Annie's eyes narrow suspiciously. Her hair is brushed, her hands and clothes clean. "What have you done?"

"Butler, he… he took a bullet for me today."

"_What_? Holy– Holy _fuck_! Is he okay? Are _you_ okay?"

He bats her concern impatiently away. "I'm fine," he insists, "and Butler has been healed."

"Healed?" The girl knows what that word means. "You got the fairies out? Are they _here_?"

"Holly is away completing the ritual and Mulch is probably demolishing the second pantry–"

"Then what–?"

"Spiro took the C-Cube."

"_What_?"

"He'd rigged the restaurant. He never intended me to leave it alive."

"So he's got your _box_ thing–"

"My _fairy_ box thing. With which he could easily discover the People. And when he does… I highly doubt he'll just invite them to tea."

Annie gapes at him, unbelieving. It has been three weeks, three weeks since she last saw him. "You are… You are such a twat. What were you _thinking_ putting something like that near Jon Spiro? Fer feck's _sake_, Art! You know he hires from Tuley's mum, don't you? He's a total head-banger."

"Well, thank you for that _insightful_ analysis."

She jabs a finger in his face. "It's these fairies. Every time you mess with them your brain turns to _gloop._"

He almost snarls. "I don't have _time_ for this. I'll be leaving for Chicago soon and there is a price for the fairies' assistance."

"Yeah? Got to give all the gold back have you? That's going to be difficult considering you spent it all on–"

"A mind wipe."

Annie's stomach drops. "They can't."

Artemis laughs: the noise is bitter and harsh. "Oh yes they can. Very easily. I shan't be able to avoid it."

"But that…" She looks away from him, her expression transformed. "That… would kill you."

He is confused. "What?"

"You'll just be a vegetable. You'll just sit there and dribble all day. You won't be… _you_ without your mind."

Then he realises what she is thinking and laughs again – genuinely this time.

Her eyes narrow. "What are you snorting at? They're going to suck your brain out with a straw and you think that's _funny_?"

This only causes him to laugh harder, and Annie punches him hard in the stomach. He collapses onto his meditation mat, gasping.

"It's not…" he wheezes. "They're not… They only take… the fairy-related memories."

"Right, I'm leaving."

His hand shoots out and grabs her passing ankle. "No…. Please. Annie… I need you."

She scowls at him between her legs, her hands already on the window ledge. "Why?"

He coughs and releases her foot. Her skin burns slightly where he's touched her. "They're going to… make me forget all about… the People but you… you could help me remember."

She raises a thin eyebrow.

Another hoarse cough and he rises to his feet, running a hand back over his hair to neaten it. She continues to watch him suspiciously.

"I'm going to fight it," he says, looking her square in the eye. "Once wiped, my conscious self is going to come up with as many excuses and explanations as possible to avoid re-accepting the existence of fairies."

He steps closer to her.

"I have a plan–"

"What a surprise."

"– contingency plans. A 'B' plan, a 'C' plan, half a 'D' plan that has yet to be firmed up."

"And your 'A' plan?"

"You."

Annie folds her pale arms over her chest. There's a clatter from the floor below and what sounds like a giant belch.

"Me?"

"Mind wipes are not infallible. One image, one _sentence_from the right source can sometimes be enough to break them."

"And you want me to be that _right source_?"

"Correct."

Her brow draws inwards, hardening her face. She suddenly seems bothered, upset, like something is niggling at her.

She avoids his eyes. "And what… what if it doesn't work?"

"The mind wipe?"

"Me. _My_ words. What if I tell you you've kidnapped a fairy and you just think I've gone bat-shit?"

"Annie…"

"I mean it. What makes my word so special?"

"Because I trust you."

Her eyes flick up. _Up_, now. He has grown.

"You don't trust anyone," she whispers. "You _shouldn't_trust anyone."

"But with us… with us." He is suddenly hesitant. "At least I… Don't you trust _me_?"

"Artemis." She is incredulous, unbelieving. "Artemis, I _love_you."

And the world smacks to a stand-still. They are frozen, stuck. Even their hearts seem somehow to have forgotten how to beat.

She is horrified.

She turns, her face fallen, her hands groping for the window ledge– for _anything._

He lurches forward.

"_Don't_," she spits, as his hand tightens on her wrist. "_Don't. _Please, don't. Don't say anything–"

"Annie–"

"_Don't._" She wrenches back her arm. "Please. Artemis–" She breaks off.

They are quiet. Her chest is heaving.

"I didn't…" She looks at the wallpaper as if somehow her next words are written there. "I didn't… _Fuck_." She puts a hand to her head. "Why is this so messed up? Why is everything _always_ so messed up with you? I kiss you and… you puke. I'm not even sure you remember doing that by the way–"

"I do."

She closes her eyes. "That's… that's just great… And…" She opens her eyes, glares at him, accusing him. "You arrive at my house like some feckin' _angel_ in a shell suit and you're… you're stood in that bathroom, over _his _body and… and how am I supposed to get over that?"

His breath is unsteady. His fingers are still ringed about her arm.

"I…" He has thought about this. Of course he has. He is the boy who thinks of everything. He has attempted to predict the consequences of this. But he can't. Often, he finds he doesn't care.

_But... _

"I… I am not going to remember any of this in forty-eight hours."

She swears and breaks free of his grip. He heart drops.

"Annie!"

"_No!_"

She hardly has time to start climbing before he is at her back, pressing her into the wall, stopping her legs from rising onto the ledge.

"Annie, _please_–"

"Get _off_!"

He pulls her arms around her stomach. She stiffens, every muscle tensing. He holds her, wraps himself around her. The view outside is calm. Birds are twittering somewhere unseen, their half-written songs drifting up from the eaves. The March wind teases at Annie's hair, picking at the loose strands and brushing them across Artemis's bowed head.

Annie breathes deeply. Her eyes fix on a point somewhere down below.

Her heartbeat is raging now; Artemis can feel it through her T-shirt, keeping time with his.

"Love," he murmurs, his words slightly muffled. "Is that all this is?"

She doesn't answer.

"It is… It is too much for a four-letter word."

Silence.

"I'm sorry, Annie." He hesitates. "It is… It is just extremely strange to be admitting the love of something which is just as much a natural part of me as my hands or my eyes... my very soul."

She snorts. "I thought you didn't believe in souls?"

"I didn't before I met you. Before I saw you and realised you were mine."

Annie turns her head to look at him. Artemis raises his face from her shoulder, his expression plain, but his eyes bright and intent. Annie draws back her hands. He loosens his grip around her waist. She turns, and strands of hair sprout like crow's feathers between her fingers as she cups a hand behind his neck.

"Artemis–"

He kisses her.

It is a strange thing. Holly can still hear the movements and the noises that the children are now deaf to: the grunts, the half-protests, and the exasperated exchanges of the three figures occupying the floor down below – the fourth being still unconscious and hog-tied on the sofa. Her past self will be bending to the earth round about now, pushing her fist into the ground, remembering the time when she hadn't quite managed it…

"I love you," he breathes. "Of _course_ I love you."

"You never _told_ me."

"I thought you already knew."

She thumps her forehead against his chest. "You have _got _to stop spreading this 'genius' thing, Artemis. It just isn't true."

She leans back and looks at him.

Then there's a bang from downstairs, and a loud, dwarf-made oath.

"Mulch," says Artemis, closing his eyes. "I'd almost forgotten."

Annie tightens her grip around his back.

His smile slips. "Annie, I'm… I'm sorry, but we– I don't have time."

She won't let him go.

His arms move from her back, his hands pushing gently against her grip around his waist.

"Annie…"

"Just five more minutes."

"You can undo the mind wipe," he reasons, almost laughs. "I will remember this. I _will_ remember this and we'll have all the... all the 'five minutes' this world can provide."

But her arms remain locked. Annie's mouth has hardened, her brow drawn. She picks her words carefully.

"But what…" She swallows. "What if you don't remember?"

He sighs. "We have been through this–"

"Not because you won't believe me but…" She finally meets his gaze. "But what if… what if you just let this moment go… along with the rest of them?"

There was a silence.

"I can't do that."

"You've got your parents back now. You don't _need_ them anymore–"

"_Annie_–"

"We could go back to how we used to be! Just us and… and your parents and Butler when you want them. We've dealt with the bodies now. My dad can't hurt me. It'd just be us! No-one else! You would love me just like you say you always _have_ and… Would that… would that be so _bad_?"

There was another silence.

"No," he said quietly. "No, that wouldn't be so… but I don't want to live like that Annie! I… I can't." He pulled back a little further, willing her to understand. "I _need_ you, Anne. I need you more than I _want_ you and God knows I want you for all time. But… but there are _other_ things I know I _need_now. They gave me back my parents, you are correct. But they have also given me perspective."

Annie was struggling. "Perspective–?"

"I almost killed Butler today. The only reason he is still living is because of Holly and her magic."

The elf's ears pricked at her name.

Annie frowns. "But he's _alright_ now–"

"For how long?" He took another sharp step back from her. "How long till my next great scheme has him hurt or maimed or… No. Today has proved to me that I cannot continue as I am – as I _was_. I cannot forget them, Annie, the lessons I have learnt from them, and I especially cannot forget the events of _today_. Or else I risk reverting straight back to my former self. I know my family will not be enough. I need the _People's_influence or I shall be lost again."

"_I_can… _I_ would–"

"I _know_ you would try to help me. But you are what keeps me sane, what keeps me whole, Annie – not moral."

"So... So what?" She clapped her hands by her side. "So you want me to... to promise you or–?"

"I do not need oaths, nor contracts, from you. I have told you that I trust you. I trust that you will do this for me."

She didn't look at him.

"Annie?"

The floor darkened at her feet as he stepped back towards her. His fingers brushed at her hair, her face.

"_Annie._"

Her head snapped up.

And Artemis briefly contemplated never eating again; he would live happy for the rest of his days with only this taste in his mouth. _Her _taste. She was kissing him like she never would again…

_I am not going to remember any of this in forty-eight hours._

When they pulled back, the boy was smiling.

"Thank you," he whispered, his forehead pressed against hers.

Annie didn't answer, and Holly heard her heart fracture like a bird's wing caught in a vice.

* * *

**Hmm, saddest chapter yet I think :(**

**This is only sort of semi beta'd so apologies if there are a lot of mistakes. The bit at the beginning, the 'verbal extract', I've actually had written for about two years. Wrote it to Jeff Buckley's cover of 'Hallelujah' if anyone wants to go listen and make themselves cry. **

**This is actually a chopped down version of the original plan for chapter thirteen... I'm beginning to realise that I'm going to have to maybe put an extra chapter in this... So three chapters left now? Sorry guys, there's obviously just so much to tie up and I want to do it properly. **

**This chapter is dedicated to Shadow Huntress - as without her nagging this wouldn't be posted today :P**

**Next chapter: The birthday party I promised previously and THE argument.**

**NOW PLEASE REVIEW! THIS THING TAKES EFFORT AND I KNOW YOU'RE ALL NICE PEOPLE! :D**

P.S. This is a shout out to any readers who are also artists - I'm loving the fact that you can put up picture covers of your fanfics now. If there are any readers with a talent for art who fancy doing something for this - a scene from the story or maybe just a general cover - that would be INCREDIBLY epic. So please PM me if you're up for it :)


	14. Chapter 14 Hope You're happy Too

Hey! It's rogue posting time!

Woo!

Just a few house announcements...

Yep, I've just come back from a tour of Europe, thus I am extremely hyper and feeling (probably delusionally) cultured. Basically saw a shed-load of posh stately European houses, came home, ditched my bag, and wrote this entire chapter in one go. Apologies if it's mental/unpunctual("fiction is never on time!") /unenjoyable...

Enjoy, my lovely, lovely readers!

**WARNING - LOTTA SWEAR WORDS IN THIS ONE! But hey, if you're at this point then you're probably used to it.**

* * *

**'_What are you doing up here?"_**

**_'Because it apparently requires full use of_ _both__ hands to get an armchair on the roof.'_**

* * *

Disclaimer: yeah, you know there would have been a nuclear holocaust if I were Eoin. Everything Opal-related explodes in the Mud Man world? And no mention of nukes? A-hmm? You _knows _it.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen - Hope You're Happy Too

The season had changed by the time Holly's vision cleared. The sun outside the window was harsher, the trees healthier, their shadows darker: almost bible-black. The boy had become paler, if possible, his blue-veined hands crossed and pulled tight behind his back. He was pacing, waiting, but not for much longer.

Annie Shinner's head swung into view at the top of his window.

"Hey!" she said, beaming. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her long hair swinging down to kiss the wood of the sill below.

"You are late." His voice was cold, clipped. "Twentyminutes late to be exact. And must you always insist on hanging from the features like a primate escaped from its handlers?"

Annie's smile dropped. She gripped a piece of stonework between her hands and lowered her legs carefully down.

Artemis held back the already tied curtain as she clambered into the room. "There," he said primly. "Two feet on the floor again. Isn't it nice to consort yourself like a homo sapien?"

Annie clapped the dirt from her hands. "Happy birthday by the way, and yes, I'm fine, thanks for asking."

"I hadn't asked."

He shut the window with a snap, muffling the birdsong outside.

It was September the second, the day following Artemis Fowl's fourteenth birthday: what had been a none-day in his opinion. His parents had made an effort, admittedly. He had received the symposium tickets he had asked for (which he could just have easily have purchased himself, of course, but by his parents gifting them they were consequentially giving him permission to travel to Hong Kong during a school week – one less argument and deception he would have to construct) and he had been taken for lunch to his favourite restaurant: a small rotisserie on the east coast that served the best seafood dishes outside of Hong Kong. He had endured the inane small talk of his mother and the hearty 'you're almost a man now' comments of his father without too many problems. At one point Butler had bent to his ear and told him not to clench his jaw so, but apart from that…

Today he would have spent catching up on the lost work of yesterday.

_Would have. _

"You ready then?" asked Annie, braving a smile. "Got your folks sorted out?"

"Yes," said Artemis, remaining decidedly mardy. "Both of them are asleep. Butler too. We have a window of eight hours, just as you requested. Well, seven hours and thirty-eight _minutes_ due to your lapse in punctuality."

"And you–?"

"No, I have not checked the security cameras, _also _as you requested."

She snorted. "Liar."

He at least had the decency not to meet her gaze. He picked at his shirt sleeve instead, adjusting the line of his French cuffs. "I have not checked them since four pm."

"Half a truth then. I suppose that'll have to do."

Then her hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist.

"Excuse me!" blustered Artemis as she dragged him forward, causing his feet to stumble. "But what do you think you're–?"

She flung the window open.

"I _said_," – She let him go and pushed herself up onto the sill – "What do you think you're–?"

She looked back at him. "Don't you trust me?"

He was momentarily flustered. The birds outside were chirping louder than ever. "Well- well _yes_," – She smiled to herself and rose to her feet – "but that still doesn't explain what you are _doing_."

She gave an exasperated sigh and held her hand back out to him. "Being a primate escaping from its handler. Come on, we're heading up in the world."

Artemis took a sharp step back. His bedroom was on the second floor, a full twenty seven metres from the ground due to the vaulted ceiling of the ballroom beneath him. "No," he said bluntly. "No, I am _not _going out there. My guardians are incapacitated, wherever you want to take me we can get there via the _main_ entrance."

"I… beg to differ."

He folded his arms.

_No way._

"Fine." Annie raised her hands, finding her grip on the stonework. "Then you just don't get your present." She heaved herself up. Her legs flailed for a moment, circling in thin air, before finally being wrenched out of sight.

Artemis hurried to the window sill, looking up after her.

"Annie!" he cried. "_Annie!_"

She looked down. Her feet were braced against a pair of gargoyle heads above. "You rang?"

"Annie, I…" He seemed almost angry now. "Annie, I _can't_. I can't… _climb_."

"How would you know? You've never tried."

"It is preposterous. This is a _house_, not a _jungle gym._"

"Well, your present's up here so…"

He grinded his teeth and pushed off from the window sill.

"_Stupid_," he muttered, stalking back towards his bed. "Why would I have expected anything less? Putting my gift on the _roof _of my own _house. _Thirty metres up for Heaven's sake…"

There was a muffled thump and Annie landed, crouched, on the window ledge.

"Art," she said seriously. "Do you really think I'd ever let you fall?"

He scowled. "Well why plan something which involves the _risk_?"

"There isn't a risk. I'm _not_ going to let you fall. You go I go, remember? And that roof is fucking _high_."

He didn't laugh. He just looked at her. Annie stretched out her hand.

"C'mon."

He didn't move.

"C'mon, I'll help you."

He still didn't move.

"Artemis…" She wiggled her fingers. "Art, c'mon. You _did_ say you trusted me…"

And she had him. He gave her his dirtiest look yet, hesitated, then marched stiffly towards the window ledge. His hand gripped hers; he could feel the grit scratch between their palms.

"This," he said, struggling to get a foot up onto the ledge, "had _better_ be worth it."

She only smiled, then braced her other hand on the window frame.

"Okay," she said, keeping a grip of his fingers whilst leaning out a little. "Your best bet is going out the side. There's a nice track of gargoyles–"

"They're not gargoyles, they are grotesques. Gargoyles spout water–"

"–ugly stone monster things that you can climb up. They're spaced pretty evenly apart so…"

She put a hand on his waist and gently swapped their positions, keeping him on the inside of the window.

"There," she pointed a hand around the outside of the frame. "You see."

He swallowed. "Yes."

"Get your foot on that."

"My right?"

"Yeah. Go on, I've got you."

He glanced back at her once. Then looked quickly away. "Don't let me go."

"I won't. Go on."

It was a shaky ascent, plagued with slips and the occasional terrified gasp, but true to her word Annie did not let Artemis fall. Holly found herself almost hovering beside them, weightless, untouched by the Spring-time winds. She watched Annie's hands pushing Artemis's feet into place, Artemis's hands, white against crumbling granite, his face drawn but determined. They soon reached the top. Artemis had to belly-flop over the edge, scagging his trousers on a loose nut protruding from the guttering. Annie stepped neatly up after him.

"Well done that Fowl!" she cried. "See? No problem."

Artemis had shut his eyes, indulging in a few breathing exercises.

Annie bent over him. "Don't you want to see what you came for?"

The boy shook his head.

"Just open your eyes."

He shook his head again.

"Art…"

It was her tone that made him do it; open his eyes to the endless, blushing, sky. It had been a clear day and a half-bitten moon was already visible high in the heavens. Night was beckoning. He sat up slowly and drank it in, breathed in ripe, evening air. The countryside stretched on as far as he could see, rolling, heaving hills of it, woods and fields that melted into streams, their waters glinting bright white in the last rays of the shying sun.

"Pretty, isn't it?" murmured Annie.

Artemis was about to reply when something caught the corner his eye. "Is that a Caravaggio?" he blurted.

A few metres from him, on a flat expanse of slated roof, a blanket had been laid out. It was patch-worked, familiar; a picnic blanket his mother had been fond of when he'd barely been able to walk. There were cushions scattered across it, silken and woollen, antique and designer couture, all recognisable as coming from inside the manor sitting rooms. Two winged armchairs, their leather soft and worn, were arranged together on the left-hand corner, a low table placed between them, several pots of beluga caviar placed atop that. An old gramophone, its needle raised but ready, was cushioned on a crate just off the blanket, a box of paper-cased vinyl records set, waiting, beside it. All was softly lit by lamps; solar lanterns strung up on poles, planted in pots of dark, deep soil. They cast strange shadows, stippled dim purples, golds, tainted by stained glass. Between them, on the vines of wire, streamers had been hung.

_No, _thought Artemis, _not streamers._

Money. Notes of a dozen currencies: yen , rubles, dollars, pesos, euros, rupees, francs, kunas, kronas, pounds: they were all there. Artemis touched a dangling dram and gave a brief, disbelieving laugh.

It was the perfect nest, set high above the manor and its grounds; untouchable. Artemis had never made forts as a child, dragged the cushions off sofas and sheets from the beds to make soft, closed hide-a-ways padded and safe. He had an office. He had a seven foot manservant. He had riches. His mind. Here…

_That armchair is from the Crimson Room. _

It was his favourite chair. And rooftop life seemed to suit it, paint the old leather in light and heat, like an old man basking in the sun. And the music in the vinyl boxes. He could see the top of David Bowie's _Diamond Dogs Live_ album just poking out.

The Caravaggio was propped up to his right. It was small, compared to the master's other works, and framed in gilded oak. Artemis approached it, almost reverentially, and brushed a finger along the antique wood.

"_Boy Peeling Fruit_," he whispered.

"It reminded me of you."

The boy spun around.

Annie blushed and smoothed a palm down her newly-donned dress. It was knee-length and ill-fitting, one spaghetti-strap already beginning to droop from her shoulder. The material was cheap, a dulling white cotton tied at the waist by a sash that was fraying at the ends. If Angeline Fowl had seen it, she would have burnt it. None of the girls in Artemis's society would have been caught dead in it.

"I…" Annie broke his gaze. She took a sharp breath and then tried again. "I just thought I'd make an effort. You always look so smart and I'm always… well…"

Artemis stared at her a few moments more before flushing and looking at his feet. "Did you… Did you er… just get changed up here?"

"Yeah." She fidgeted with a loose thread of her skirt. "There's a chimney stack over there and you weren't looking…"

"And where did you… Where did get this" – he gestured weakly about him – "all from?"

"The painting? Oh, I just called in a few favours."

"And the chairs? The cushions?"

She looked suddenly sheepish. "Nicked them from your house."

He gave a short laugh, quickly stifled, and shook his head. "How…?" He swallowed. "And how did you _get_ this all up here? Exactly?"

She smirked. "Carefully."

"Well, well _yes_, I would have… Of _course_."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes." He met her eyes sharply. "Yes, of course. You've… You've thought of everything. All my favourite things… All my… my girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes."

She flicked the navy tie at her waist. "_Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes_."

She laughed and Artemis's expression suddenly sobered.

The sun sank a little lower. The light played in the studs on one of Angeline's cushions and played rainbows across Annie's face.

"you okay?" she asked softly.

Then Artemis was frowning.

"I must…" He stepped away from her. "I must retrieve something. I have something–"

"What–?"

"_Damn_ _it_. It is in my room."

She frowned. "I'll get it. What is it?"

"No, you can't–"

"Seriously, I'll be much quicker. What do you want?"

He hesitated. "There is a package in my third safe, the one beneath the cistern."

"Nice."

"You'll need the combination."

"I know it."

"You can't _know_–"

"I _know _it."

And she was gone. Artemis sighed. Holly stood beside him, scrutinizing his expression.

It was still for a moment, unreadable, and then suddenly he realised a sharp exhale of frustration.

_Idiot, _he cursed. _You've done this too soon. You were going to wait._

His brow furrowed. It was four months now since that _awful _night with the vodka. The night he'd–

He shut his eyes tight.

_You must speak to her about it. _

But what to say? Something had… something had _changed…_ he supposed, but…

_Idiot. _

He actually pressed a palm to his brow. Then he spotted the pair of champagne flutes Annie had placed on a side table. He quickly snatched one up.

_You must do this. Four months is much too long; you should have broached the issue sooner instead of letting it… fester._

He took a deep breath.

_Compose yourself. It is Annie, for God's sake. And judging by the pupil dilation and the slight tremor in both her hands when she sees you, she most probably feels a similar attraction to you._

It was that or a brain tumour.

When Annie climbed grinning over the parapet, a scuff of brick-dust clearly visible down one panel of her dress, she found Artemis stood on the centre of the picnic blanket, his black brogues un-laced and placed neatly together beside the Caravaggio. Music was playing softly from the gramophone.

"Miss Shinner," he said formally, holding out a pale hand. "Would you care to dance?"

Annie's smile wavered. "You having a laugh?"

He sighed and walked forward to take the flat, brown package she had retrieved and set it down on a side table.

"I said…" He held out his hand again, keeping his nerve. "Would you care you dance?"

"I can't dance posh."

"How would you know? You've never tried."

"Artemis–"

But he stepped closer, a slight smirk playing about his lips. He drew her to him by her hands, adjusted them, guided them, just as she had done to his when scaling the wall; he placed one palm on his shoulder blade and clasped the other in his.

"There," he murmured. "Well done that Annie."

She tried to smile but it was a shaky effort. He felt her heart beat raging through his shirt.

"I thought you couldn't dance either," she mumbled.

"Ah, well that is one of the advantages of being me, you see…" He pulled her to the left, slowly, gently. "I can do anything I want to…"

She smiled uncertainly and allowed herself to be guided. At first she looked at her feet, occasionally glancing up at the boy in her arms, for assurance, for a look.

"Good," he murmured. "You're doing well."

She snorted. "Shut up ya patronising arse."

He simply smiled and drove them into a turn.

The sun soon fell below the horizon, like a tired child finally dropping back into their bed, leaving Annie and Artemis to waltz in their lamp light. Holly sat on one of the unoccupied armchairs, her chin cupped in her hands, watching them swirl, slowly, often clumsily, but always with undeniable beauty. He was humming now, murmuring along with the song seeping from the gramophone.

"_Hope you're happy, hope you're happy too…_"

Annie closed her eyes. He tipped his chin against the top of her head.

"Art…?"

"Hmm…?"

"What did I fetch from your safe?"

He seemed to stiffen a little at that, tense, though no-one but a person resting in his arms would have been able to know it.

"It… it is your birthday present."

"What? My birthday is three months away."

"I… I guess I could not wait."

She looked up at him. "What have you got me?"

He looked solemn now, hesitant.

"What is it?"

"You shall have to open it."

She narrowed her eyes at him, unwound her fingers from his. He watched as she padded, bare foot, across the blanket and crouched down upon a cushion. She looked at him as she took up the thin brown package, slid a finger under the sealant tab.

"I ordered them months ago," he said. "They arrived last Tuesday and I've been checking them over, waiting for the right time to give them to you–"

Annie tipped the envelope and a small, green booklet fell first into her hands.

"What is this?" she whispered.

Artemis watched her, his heart in his throat.

"I wasn't sure when to give them to you."

Annie thrust her hand into the package pulling out more papers, documents.

"I just wasn't sure how you would react. I– I didn't want to–"

"_What is this?_" she demanded again, fisting some of the papers in her hand.

He took a breath. "That, specifically, is a certificate of primary education. The second is a duplicate of your medical records. The original is currently in a central practice in Dublin, close to your brother's house. I thought that would be most–"

"And _this_?"

"Your birth certificate."

"This? _This_?"

"Dental registration, inoculation records… and your passport."

Annie's chest was heaving. She knelt amongst the debris of her paper identity, her face pale, her thoughts reeling.

"Where… Where did you… _Have you been_ _keeping this from me_?"

"No." He dropped to his knees, eyes wide, hands trembling. "No, I would _never_ –"

"Then _what_?" she spat. "Where did this come from? Where did you _get _this?"

"I…" He hesitated. "I created it."

Her stomach dropped. "You _faked–_"

"No." He shook his head sharply, willing her to understand. "No, none of this is counterfeit." He picked up a stray paper half-concealed beneath a cushion. "This, this here, this is the paper that will allow you to go to school. It came straight from the Dublin County Council, perfectly legal, perfectly sound. Here, this –" He picked up a second document. "This is your birth certificate. Your mother's name is on it, and your father's, as it should be–"

She snatched it from his hand, read the name in the centre.

"Annie Fowler," she whispered.

Artemis had frozen. He felt as if his whole world was balancing on a knife-edge, the handle of which Annie was holding in her shaky, shell-shocked, grasp.

"Fowler?" she repeated.

His eyes were pleading. "I… I presumed you would not wish to take your Father's name. Your mother… I should have given you your mother's name. I'm sorry, I… I…"

He swallowed.

"We are the same," he suddenly blurted. "We are… family. But then… not. I…" He swallowed again. "I did not presume so much as to… to remove the suffix. However..."

He trailed off and Holly caught something about compass hands.

Annie's voice was soft, nigh inaudible. "Look at me."

He did as he was bid, eyes red, thoughts unsteady.

"You…" Her gaze dropped again to the records, her old life, _new_ life, scattered about her legs. "You did…" Her voice broke. Her head dropped forwards. "You've given me…" She could speak no longer.

Artemis reached for her just as Annie collapsed, curling sideways into the cave of his body. He cupped himself over her, bowing his head, covering her. For some reason, the position was familiar.

"_Get off me!"_

"_No, Annie –!"_

He squeezed his eyes shut. Annie was shuddering beneath him.

"Oh my God!" she sobbed. "Oh my _God!"_

Artemis rocked her, held her. Her warmth, her tears sank through him like a balm.

_It is alright. She is alright._

This was joy - their joy. Annie Shinner had lived thirteen years in a world where technically she didn't exist. But now... School. Doctors. Dentists. Holidays.

_Perhaps I have done her an ill thing in registering her for secondary education. All those children. Awful._

He smiled.

And after several minutes of crying, shaking and heavy sniffing, he saw her pale, shaking hand stretch out from her torso and clutch a small envelope that had so far remained unexamined from the package. His own writing was looped across the front. He squinted through sore eyes but couldn't quite make out the lettering. Annie turned it over and slit it open. Out fell a small, golden object.

Artemis felt a strange buzzing at the base of his skull.

"_A little something to remind you._"

"_Remind me of what?_"

"Annie…" His voice trailed off.

The girl had wriggled out from beneath him, the object held tight in her palm. Artemis got to his knees.

"Annie." He coughed. "May I see that for a second? It… I don't know how it got in there."

"It's mine." She wiped a sleeve across her face, looped the leather tie around her neck. "It was in the package so it's mine."

"Annie, please. It wasn't meant to be in there. Just for a moment–"

She dropped the golden _something_ beneath the neckline of her dress. Artemis stared at the spot for a second, his mind still inhabiting some half-hazed place in some half-hazed time… Then he realised what he was doing and flushed.

Annie smirked and helped him to his feet. "Yes, you can see it," she told him, her voice hoarse. "But you'd have to fish it out–"

"No," he blurted, his cheeks reddening all the more.

"Didn't think so." She smiled, sniffed again, and held out her hand. "C'mon, Mister Fowler, I want another dance."

He took her fingers again, feeling heavy, but the feeling of her hand once more in his was already pushing away all thoughts of the mysterious coin. "But I thought you couldn't dance."

"Ah, well, that's an advantage of being a Fowl, see." She smiled, though Holly could see the panic, the tenseness, behind her eyes. "I can do whatever I want..."

* * *

Tuley answered on the second double chime.

"_Yes?_"

"It's me," said Artemis, his feet shifting slightly on his seat. "Are you free to talk?"

"_Just about. The nurses check on me every twenty minutes but the last one just left._"

"Good."

Artemis was nested on a wrought-iron garden chair, acquired by the Fowl family circa 1920 and currently unadorned with padding. His legs were curled up tight beneath him, the bottom of the over-sized hoodie he was wearing pulled over them to form a large, prism-shaped bulge. His stump was resting in the valley of his legs and stomach, his left hand clasping his mobile phone through the elbow of the sleeve. The hood was pulled up over his hair, the cloth turned the colour of wet elephant skin with the drizzle.

"How much information do you have?"

"_Hmm, well, perhaps as much information as you'd expect having been lying unconscious in my car and then a Parisian hospital for the last eleven hours_."

Artemis didn't reply. There was silence, then a rush of static: a sigh.

"_The Neck targeted seven: a child for every member at the meeting who refused him. So that's you, me, Volga–"_

"And amputated an appendage from each?"

"The next thing I remove is the Neck. _Of a sorts. We got off comparatively lightly."_

"Explain–"

"_Volga has been scalped. Callum Shinner's little girl has lost both her eyes." _

Artemis felt his stomach sink.

_Baby Anna. _

He rested his head against his phone for a moment before putting it lethargically back to his ear. Tuley was still talking.

"…_what has happened to the Singapore boy. Positively demonic. But no action has been taken yet. My mother is on a flight to Moscow; she wants to meet with the Boujinskys. After that, I believe she wanted to contact your father. What _is _your old psychopath up to by the way?"_

"I don't know," sighed Artemis. "I have also been unconscious. He is also not answering any of my calls…"

"_And what are _you_ going to do?"_

The teenager laughed weakly, and rain dripped into his already soaked hoodie. He licked his lips.

"I am barely lucid, Tuley."

"_You're lucid enough to be talking to me now."_

"Indeed. No, I am leaving this to my father… I... at least for now."

His thoughts were beginning to waltz again.

"_Well I, for one, am getting a rifle in my hands as soon as they discharge me from this God-forsaken hole. I will make the one who did this to us wish they'd been born both without nerves or limbs."_

Artemis smiled grimly. "And I shall be there to applaud you in your success…" He glanced at his right, empty, sleeve. "Or perhaps not."

"_Good night, Art._"

"I shall call again soon, Tuley."

The handset disconnected.

"Artemis?"

The teenager didn't bother turning around. "Butler."

"What… What are you doing out here?"

Artemis sighed. "Because it apparently requires the full use of _both_ hands to get an armchair onto the roof," he said matter-of-factly. "This was the next best thing."

Butler stood silently for a moment, just taking that comment in. But after five seconds there was still no sense to be had so the manservant walked forward through the open French doors and onto the balcony.

"You're soaking," he grunted, picking up the teenager, chair, hoodie and all.

"My bandages are protected," said Artemis mildly as he was carried inside.

Butler hefted him across the room and lowered the boy's make-shift litter towards the large, four-poster guest bed. Artemis half stepped, half rolled off the chair and onto the covers. He lay back and stared at the crimson canopy above.

"You should get out of those… clothes." The manservant's eyes narrowed at the expanse of grey. "Where did you get that from?"

"The jumper?" asked Artemis. "An old friend left it to me when she died."

"An old friend? What?"

The boy closed his eyes, shook his head. "It is of no matter. It doesn't have buttons you see. Or laces. Laces and buttons have become my two new enemies. That and clapping."

He snorted.

"Okay, Artemis," said Butler softly. "Let's get you ready for bed."

He unzipped the hoodie, finding his charge bare-chested underneath. He was still wearing the boxer shorts Butler had put on him after the very careful shower they had braved a few hours ago, but not the pyjama bottoms, and only one sock was still on his feet. Butler pulled it off and dropped it, sopping, to the carpet. He lifted the covers over him.

"There," he murmured, "now sleep."

Artemis buried his nose in the pillow and, with one last breathy giggle, obeyed.

* * *

Holly only had to blink before the roof was gone. Then she was back in Artemis's room, with weak, winter sunshine spilling through the antique glass of the window. For once the window was closed. The boy himself was sat in his usual office chair. But there was nothing on the desk before him. He was staring at the leather inset with bruised eyes, the bags beneath them dark and somehow dangerous; like storm clouds on a dawn horizon. His shoulders were tensed, his legs hanging loose beneath him like beaten draught excluders. His breath was slow, even.

There was a tap at the window.

The boy didn't react.

There was another tap, then another three in quick succession.

"Art!" called a voice, muffled by the glass. "Art! Come on! Let me in!"

There was a thump and a muffled curse.

"Art!" screamed Annie. "Art, fer feck's sake!"

He wrenched himself out of his chair and strode to the window. Annie fell inside and landed hard on the shag-pile carpeting. She swore as she got up, looked up expectedly to see his usual helping hand. It wasn't there.

"Jaysus," she spat, pushing herself to her feet. "What were you playing at, Art? You know how high that fucking window is!"

He stared at her, his lips a thin line.

She swore again and brushed at her coat, put a hand to her mouth and pressed tentatively to the metal wires now stretched tight across her teeth.

"Fucking hurts if you knock this thing," she said thickly. "Only had it in on Wednesday."

He still stared.

"What?" she barked finally. "What is your problem? Have some of your stocks fallen through or–?"

"I know," he said quietly.

Annie was confused, impatient. She rolled her eyes and reached down to slap some gutter-slime from the knees of her jeans. "You know _what_? How many squirrels it would take to get to Jupiter? How to make a nuke from a toaster? What do you know _now_?"

He didn't answer. His lips were dry, his heart was ramming inside his chest.

"_What?_" she yelled at him, thrusting her hands out.

And then he was rocketing to his feet.

"Fairies!" he bellowed. "Sprites, nymphs, dwarves, kelpie, p'shog, ka-dulan, fadas, _whichever language you prefer_! I know _fairies!_"

There was a moment of silence. Artemis's chest was heaving, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles looked in danger of breaking through skin.

Annie was unmoved. "Oh."

Artemis snorted, half laughed. "Oh? _Oh_? Is that really all that you have to say?"

"Calm down."

"_No_, _I shall not calm down!_" His face was red, his suit rumpled. "No, I shan't– I _cannot_! _What do you have to say for yourself?"_

Annie's face hardened. "Calm. Your. _Shit_."

He made a noise like a lion being strangled and slammed the flat of his hand into his bedroom door. Holly felt her heart rate increase as Annie's did.

"Artemis–"

"_No_." He whirled around. "I could have _died_. People _have_ died_. _I have just come from the worse… a _nightmare _of a situation, which could all possibly have been avoided if you… you…" He trailed off, having just seen her roll her eyes. "You _dare_," he spat, "you _dare_–"

She scoffed at him. "Yes, I fucking _dare!"_ she shouted. "Don't _you_ dare speak to me like that! Look at yerself fer fuck's sake! Get a grip!"

"_Get a grip–?_"

"What are you? A fucking parrot now? Yes!_ Get. A. Grip._"

He struggled to control his breathing, to swallow back the emotions in order to speak.

"I want to know… why," he said eventually, hoarsely, levelly. "Why–?"

"If you just went off with them and nearly died again then that's your fault."

Artemis closed his eyes, tried to still his shaking. "You have no _idea…_ what you are talking about."

"If it's to do with fairies then it is _your_ fault. "You were the one fucking stupid enough to get involved in all their shite in the first place."

Holly felt the anger rise off him in waves of heat. He was shaking from head to foot with a rage she had never seen him possess, not with Spiro, not with Kronski, not even with Opal… And then she realised that it wasn't rage.

_Artemis, _she thought, as tears suddenly burnt in her eyes.

"You _promised _me!" he screamed.

"I promised you _nothing_," spat Annie. "I took fucking pity on you; that's what I did... Fucking _fairies._"

Artemis's mask was slipping now; the anger soon wouldn't be enough to cover him.

"_Pity_? What are you _talking_–_?_"

"Honestly, Art, if you'd have seen ye." Annie shook her head as if remembering something past and unpleasant. "Thinking yerself some kind of _hero_ just because you'd fuck off with them every few months and escape reality for a while!"

He steeled himself. "And what _reality _would that be, pray tell?"

"The one where yer not a lying, stealing, murdering fuck case! Believing yer Dad, dribbling all his bullshit in yer ears. _Be a hero, Arty! Like me! Even though I've murdered about two hundred people!_"

"Shut up," spat Artemis, his features twisted with venom. "You shut _up_."

"No, _you_!" she shrieked. "You who've killed people! Robbed innocent people! Bet ya didn't tell all your little fairy freak friends about that, did ya? When you shot my da? _Your _da's only still about because he managed ta fucking _survive _you_. Twice_–"

"_I shot him to save him!_"

"You shot him to play _roulette _with him! It was 50/50 whether that plan would work – you were testing the feckin fates! You're a sadistic mental case, just like the fucking _rest of us!_"

"You know _nothing_!"

"_I know everything! _And you think a few days doing stuff with those fuckers can wipe out what you are? Well, I've watched you fool yourself about your da! Even your mental case mum, who frankly couldn't give a flying _fuck_ about you! Your dad feckin dealt with that, Art! _Years_ ago. The only thing she thinks about is _him_!"

Artemis turned away, actually raised his hands to his head as if her words were missiles he could deflect with skin. Annie strode forward and grabbed his wrists, shouted in his face.

"You were being _pathetic_!" she screamed. "_Fooling _yerself! Putting yerself in danger over a feckin _fantasy_! Your little _escape_! What about _my _escape, Art? But hey, you can do whatever you want to do can't ya? Fix yer parents. Fix _me._ Annie's got a fucking dental record now, so everything's grand! Perfect! Let alone all the years you _knew _I was getting shit off my dad and ya still did _nothing_! Let me climb up to your window in the _shittiest_ clothes while you lounged in your suits and your feckin _money_. In your perfect little castle–"

He pushed her away, hard, and fell back himself. They faced each other, panting. Annie swallowed hard.

"And you know what?"

"Shut up."

"You know what, Art?"

"Stop it."

"I've something for you here, something from your fairy fuck friends." She unzipped the top of her coat and pulled a leather tie over her head. "Here." She tossed the coin onto the rug. "It's yer one spark of decency, remember? Enjoy it."

She rose to her feet. Artemis was left on the floor, his legs unable to move.

"You can go back to them now," said Annie, from above him, "keep on tricking yerself. But someone had to tell you the truth o' things."

"Get out," he croaked. "Get _out_." He staggered to his feet. "_Get out. _Get_ out!_"

Annie was out the window and out of sight in three practiced moved. Artemis slammed the glass shut behind her. A few of the panes shook and shattered in his hands. Glass rained onto his legs and feet but he either didn't care or didn't notice as he collapsed to his knees in the shards.

"Get _out_. Get _out_," he sobbed.

He tipped sideways, the glass tinkling and cracking under his legs.

"Get out… Get _out…_"

His hands reached up to trap his battered head.

"Get… _out_."

* * *

Artemis woke with the switching on of a lamp. He groaned, rolled over, tried to block out the blinding light. And trapped his stump beneath him.

"_Ah!_"

"Artemis! Artemis, roll back."

He did as he was told with a shaky breath. "Butler…?"

"I'm sorry to wake you."

"Is… Is everything alright? Are _you_ alright?" The few hazy memories of his last visit to consciousness floated to the forefront of his mind. Artemis shut his eyes tight. "Oh… I apologise for my previous behaviour… the balcony… with all the drugs, you see. My mouth…"

"I do. Don't worry about it."

Artemis opened his eyes again.

"How is the pain?" asked his manservant. "Do you need more drugs?"

The teenager shook his head. "No. Thank you. I would rather… have full grasp of my wits for a time."

"Artemis, you won't be allowed out of this room for a good while. The doctor's and _my _orders. If you need relief then have it."

The boy looked about him. He was in the spare room, the Orpheus suite judging by the emerald silk damask papering the walls. His laptop was still in his own bedroom. He cursed silently.

_Butler would not fetch it if I asked and I am in hardly a state to retrieve it myself. _

He slumped back into the pillows again.

"Alright," he said, "I shall stay. But no drugs. I may not be able to move but I can certainly _think_."

Butler frowned but knew that he'd won at least a minor victory with Artemis consenting not to leave the bed. Whether that consent would last he did not know.

"Anyway," said the boy, sounding more himself than he had in hours. "I'm assuming there was a reason for you to disturb me?"

Butler features hardened. "Yes. Your father has discovered a few leads in Kilderry to do with the Neck. He is dispatching me tonight to perform a reconnaissance."

"Tonight?" Artemis was surprised. "But the attack was only a few hours ago. Surely the manor security needs you."

"I know." The words were spoken through gritted teeth. "But he has been quite in insistent despite my… counter advice."

"So what exactly are these leads?"

"Your father has spoken with Sheila Brannagh, who has apparently gained information from the Boujinskys that the Neck's head of operations is in Ireland."

"In Kilderry?"

"I'll try and confirm that tonight."

Artemis fell silent.

_Kilderry? Really? _

Then his head throbbed painfully. He needed to go to sleep again, and soon.

"Are you taking anyone else?" he managed. "You are hardly inconspicuous. Everyone in the old families knows a Butler when they see one."

"But the Neck is not from an old family."

Artemis sighed. "Go then. If that is what father deems to be a good plan... I suppose that the Neck has made his move now – he shall be waiting for ours. Be careful."

"I shall be." Butler rose from the seat beside his young charge's bed. "I've put the manor security team on full alert. If anything should happen then they'll be ready."

The teenager managed a smile. "Good luck, old friend."

Butler nodded. He crossed the room and as he reached the threshold looked back one last time. Artemis's eyes had already fallen closed again, his mouth slack. The manservant bowed his head, frowned… and left. Never to reach Kilderry.

* * *

Annie took Holly gently by the hand. Her face was as broken as the elf's. She dragged a pale sleeve across her white face and pulled her onwards.

"Almost there, Holly," she croaked. "Our penultimate act."

Holly could barely hold her head up. The fourteen-year-old Artemis still knelt in the cracked glass of her mind, bleeding, broken.

"I don't want…" she managed to say. "I can't… I don't want to watch you… _destroy_…"

Annie shook her head and then she was gone. Holly was stood in a kitchen. A gigantic kitchen with three stoves, fifteen metres of worktop space and an eight-person breakfast island complete with high stools and two humans; a big one and a littler one.

The littler one was playing with the biscuit on the side of his coffee saucer. "We need to go to Sicily."

The big one looked unamused. "How soon?"

The littler one stretched his arm out, causing his sleeve to rise up and a wristwatch to be revealed. Butler groaned and Artemis felt a little prick of amusement.

"Don't check your watch, Artemis. Check the calendar."

"Sorry, old friend," said the teenager, certainly sounding amused now (as much as the boy ever did). "But you know time is limited. I can't risk missing a materialisation."

_Sicily, of course, _thought Holly. _The opera. _

"Foaly was wrong," continued the fourteen-year-old. "He missed a few new factors in the temporal equation."

"Which you just so happen to know?"

"But of course."

Butler sighed and scraped his stool back across the terracotta tiles. "Alright, I'll put a call back in to Dublin and tell them to fill up the _Angeline._"

"Good, good," said Artemis, hopping down off his own chair. "Take your time; I have a few matters to take care of before we depart."

"More demon issues?"

The boy's face darkened as he exited the kitchen, Holly trailing behind him. "Of a sort."

The Fowl gardens were blooming. They were a summer-lit menagerie of colours and smells, all pruned and mown to perfection; award-winning perfection as a matter of fact, as Angeline had been delighted to receive first prize in the national rose-garden competition earlier than month. It was this famed rose garden that Artemis and Holly were headed towards now; weaving their way across the wooden slats of the rock garden, past the nineteenth-century folly and the miniature lake which it so stoically presided over; through the daisy meadow, over the five stepping-stones that spanned the overflow river; a small foot path, down a pebbled avenue flanked by rows of bone-straight penny bushes, up a small, dandelion-dotted hillock and… there was Annie, looking as if she had just dragged herself out of the river Styx.

"Artemis!" she cried, almost screamed, as he walked into her presence. "You came. You _came._"

Artemis said nothing.

She tried to smile at him then but her mouth couldn't quite manage it. She looked away. She tugged at her wet clothes instead, half laughing.

"Look at me," she said. "Fell in that fucking– I mean _silly _river. Lost my footing."

He still said nothing. Annie swallowed.

"This… This is a nice garden. I've been… I've been sat on the bench. It's lovely… It's…"

Then she looked at him, her eyes wide, and Artemis could smell the smoke.

_Annie. _

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I… I really didn't mean any of it."

Holly closed her eyes.

"I was angry. Just… I hadn't wanted you to have found out about them. We were… We were going so well."

"You lied to me," he said.

Her eyes widened. She hadn't heard a sound from him in almost six months. "No," she breathed. "No, I never did. I just… I wanted to protect you. From them. As I… As I said before, you always nearly die with them. I couldn't have you _die_–"

"You said you would reverse the mind wipe. I explained to you how much it meant. You kissed me and said you would do it."

"I just wanted you. I just wanted you… and I wanted you to want me. Not them. Not the… The perfect life you'd built. Your dad, your mum. I was _jealous. _There I was, left behind. I was _scared._"

His face remained unmoved. "When have I ever left you? I _killed_ for you."

"I climbed into your window. _Your _window all those years–"

"You didn't _want _me to come to your home!"

"I was _ashamed_!" she screamed. And then she choked, dissolved into a fit of coughing.

Artemis looked away.

"No!" she gasped. "Don't! _Don't_!"

"Do you have anything else to say to me?"

"Artemis. _Please_. I'm _sorry_."

"Excuse me, I have other matters to attend to."

"No!"

She lurched forwards, scraping her knees on the stone paving. Her bony fingers wrapped around his ankle, her too-long nails digging into his sock. A memory flashed in Artemis's mind.

_"No… Please. Annie… I need you."_

He felts his hands around her ankle, _her _belligerent face scowling down at him.

It gave him strength.

"Get off me."

"Please! _Please_, I'm sorry! I'm _sorry_!"

"Get off me!"

"No! _No_!"

He wrenched his leg away and she fell back to the ground. She remained there. Her long hair hiding her face, the palms of her hands bleeding into the flagstones.

"Just give me the words," she whispered to the stone. "Please, just give me the words."

"Words?" he spat, turned from his path, unbelieving. "I should say that you are the _mistress _of words, Annie! A practical protégé of lexis and syntax!"

She didn't flinch.

"I want the words… to make you love me again."

He half laughed, half choked, pressed the palms of his hands to his forehead.

"You…" He took a hard, shaky breath. "You…" He shouted down at her. "I _trusted _you!"

"Then trust me again." She pushed up, looked at him through her dripping fringe. "You are _my_ soul too, Art. And this hurts too much. I cannot… _be_… without you."

He is crying now too.

_Stop it! Stop it now! You promised yourself that you would not return to this state! Never again! No-one can make you feel _anything_ without your consent!_

And like that, with a few hard sniffs and a dozen blinks, he recovered.

"No," he said, with a tone of absolute finality. "You are the… the product of a poisonous, _toxic _relationship that has been allowed to continue for far too long. I was infatuated with you, I admit it. But I have finally come to my senses."

Annie closed her eyes. She was numb now, unfeeling to the sodden material clutching to her back, legs and arms. She couldn't feel the ground beneath her. It was too much. Far too much. She was in a dream surely. Any moment she was going to roll over and wake up, preferably next to Artemis. They had had one of their rare sleepovers. She was dressed in his pyjamas, laid back against one of his four-hundred-euros-a-pop pillows.

"_Good morning, Star Shine," _she would sing. "_The earth says hello!_"

He would roll over, groan, and hide his face in the sheets; pretending to be grumpy. "_Never_." He would say. "_Take up singing as a profession._"

She would smile. _"Why? Because I'd bankrupt all the other singers with my amazing talent? You could make a bomb as my manager."_

He would pretend to be asleep again. She would sigh and cup herself behind him, worm her hand beneath his ribcage so she could wrap her arms around him.

"_Annie_…"

"_A-hmm?_"

There would be a pause. He wouldn't want her to let go… but then again he was _him_ so he would want to complain anyway.

"_Do you want me to sing to you again?_" she would offer.

There would be another pause… and then he would launch himself from her, attempting to escape in mock horror. She would laugh and yank him back to the mattress; he would fall back far too easily.

"_Hope you're hap-py! Hope you're hap-py too-oo-oo!"_

"_Please! Stop!_"

After a short struggle she would acquiesce and they would settle down again, the morning light dawning lazily onto their faces through a gap in the velvet drapes.

"_Alright… but only if you sing to me._"

"_No_."

"_Go on! I saw you in Bartleby's! You were well into it."_

He would sigh. "_It was all in Latin. You didn't understand a word."_

"_It still sounded nice. Go on, do it again."_

Another pause_. _Their lives are always full of pauses, periods of absence. It has always made their time spent together that little bit more precious. In the future there would be no more pauses. She would 'remove the suffix' and they would live their lives in a stream of time rather than the usual spurts and starts.

"_Alright… But not Latin. French. I know you know a little French."_

She would stay as still as possible, determined not to give him any excuse to stop. He would close his eyes. Then the humming would start, the slow, time-keeping movement of the hand not touching her back. He would conduct the entire introduction, the strings; the lonely, melancholy flute.

"_C'est Lindor, c'est Tirics et c'est tous nos vainqueurs_…" He would breathe."_C'est Myrtille, c'est Annie–" _She would giggle. "–_Les reines de nos coeurs_…"

She would know nothing but his voice. Nothing but his warmth. Would never want anything but his voice, his warmth.

But when she opened her eyes again, he was gone.

"Artemis," she whispered, her stomach dropping. "Artemis?"

But the wind rushing and bustling through the rose petals was her only reply.

She got to her feet, pushed against the blood-stained stone. "_Artemis!_"

She ran. The world was a blur of leaves and corners. Rocks, tree trunks, thorns, trips, flowers – maybe. She couldn't be sure.

"_Artemis_!"

She screamed his name again, again. It was all Holly could do to keep up.

"_Artemis_!"

Then suddenly she was back at the beginning. She was outside the house she had arrived at when she was seven years old, when she had been marched inside to meet the boy–

_My soul. _

She whirled around her. There was a faint smell of fumes; a car had driven off from here not so long ago. She looked up. The house was on top of a hill, it looked over the grounds, the _expanse _that was the Fowl estate. She could see the Bentley winding its way away from her, along the drive and into the distance.

"Can I help you, Miss?" asked a plummy, distasted voice from behind her.

She wheeled around to find herself face to face with a red-nosed footman.

"Miss?" he asked again, his brow furrowing.

Annie shook her head, scrabbled for a footing on the gravel driveway, and fled, broken, shattered, into the night.

* * *

**Hmm... Yep. May have just beat the last chapter on 'sadness rating'. Jeez... The song(s) Artemis sang were 'Ashes to Ashes' by the indomitable Mister Bowie and part of Gabriel ****Fauré'**s 'Pavane' (one of the songs to which I thought of this story's plotline, actually). The theme song for this chapter was 'Love The Way You Lie (part II)' because the lyrics at the start just fit to an absolute 'T' - whatever that actually means.

**As always, please be kind and leave a review :)**

**As always, I've fucked up the length estimates with this thing so I currently stand at... two chapters to go? Yeah?**

**And my speed, as usual, depends on motivation from you! My poor readers :( **

**Btw guys - 20 reviews for the last one (and only the one weird one from a person who had only read the first chapter and last...hmm...) was BLOWN away by that response. **

**THANK YOU!**

**HolidayBoredom**


	15. Chapter 15 Visiting Ghosts

Hey guys, here's the penultimate chapter!

It's... quite a bit violent and contains strong language - so be warned.

**BE WARNED!**

This... isn't an 'M' I'd say but half way between an M and a T.

(A... P?)

Anyways - enjoy. This story is almost at an end...

* * *

**_'Touch me and he'll kill you.'_**

**_'I highly doubt that.'_**

**_'Touch me and _I'll_ kill you."_**

**_'Better.'_**

* * *

_Disclaimer: If I were Eoin, Artemis would have clambered out of that grave four months earlier and launched a zombie attack on the manor._

_Soundtrack: Smooth Criminal by Michael Jackson/Alien Ant Farm/Glee Cast (whichever version you prefer)._

_A/N: Kudos to TrunkZY - you're the only one who got it girl._

* * *

Chapter Fifteen - Gone With The Demons

Artemis knew he was dreaming. He knew because his father was playing Chopin across a keyboard made of bones. The Artemis Senior of real life could barely play chopsticks, let alone _Fantasie Impromtu_.

His limbs were swimming in front and beneath him, flickering like vapours, breathing deep, like smoke. His heartbeat slipped between his fingers.

"_No_."

As his palm slapped to the floor he could only find an acorn, shrivelled and browning. Dead.

He turned.

* * *

**WARNING - THIS CHAPTER IS BORDERLINE 'M' DUE TO LANGUAGE AND VIOLENCE.**

* * *

"No," repeated Artemis, as a femur screamed under his father's touch. He recognised its voice. "C sharp minor, Father. Not E flat."

"_Aurum Potestas Est_," was the quiet reply, and gold began to bleed over his father's fingertips, weighing his hands, making his strokes heavier, _better_.

But the melody was still running away from him. Artemis grunted, frustrated. He reached down and snapped his right arm off at the elbow and handed it to his father.

"There," he said, his stump bleeding into the abyss. "This should help you."

The man smiled with whitened lips. "Thank you, Son." The arm was flying through a rapid line of semiquavers, outstripping his father's fingers, tutoring them, pulling them on.

Something heavy landed on the boy's shoulder.

"Tuley," sighed Artemis.

"Hello, Art."

He was pushed back, his limbs no longer gaseous but pure flesh, alive, wanting. His back met wall.

"You'll never clap again," breathed Tuley, his mouth somewhere near Artemis's chest.

"Hmm," replied Artemis. "And you shall never make the Premiership."

"And do we care?"

"For football?" Artemis gave a sharp gasp. "_No_."

"For applause?"

"I… I do not need…two hands in order to receive it..."

Tuley surfaced and suddenly Artemis was looking at himself.

"_Save me!" _his twin screamed and Artemis reared back in shock.

Its face was changing, its mouth opening so wide its jaws began to crack. It had the teeth of a shark; two sets, sharp, jagged. It fell to its knees, clutching its throat, _choking_.

"Get down!" roared a voice.

Butler was stood behind him dressed only in a pair of tattered dress trousers. His bare chest, head, arms and shoulders were smothered in weeping bite marks.

"_Get down!_" he roared again.

Artemis dropped and Butler raised his machine gun. The teenager screamed as he was peppered by blood and bullets; he was shattering, _cracking_–

Then Annie was pulling him to his feet, brushing the shell cases from the front of his jacket.

"There," she whispered through half-melted lips. "Well done that Fowl."

"_Annie_."

"Hush. It's alright. We'll all be alright."

She smiled at him–

And was immediately yanked backwards by the fish-hooks in her back and legs. A huge, leviathan figure was manipulating the wooden pallet above, jerking the strings, her hooks, forcing her to dance. Dangling from their left hand was another broken mannequin, joints splintering, hair stuck in patches to a rough, ill-painted crown.

"Indecent, am I?" hissed the toy through a chipped, red mouth. "Because you'd know all about that wouldn't you? _Indecency_?"

Artemis staggered back, tripped. A third puppet raised its head from the floor.

"Artemis," it whispered. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

The leviathan's hand jerked, Annie's hand jerked, and Holly Short's whole body was yanked up and away from him.

"Tell you what?" yelled Artemis. "_What_?"

And then the monster was back, gripping his arms, clawing into his sleeves. It opened its jaws, revealed bestial teeth–

"_Save me!_" it screamed.

And Artemis woke in a cold sweat. His chest heaved, his mouth gasping for breath.

"Artemis?"

The boy started, jerked away from the shadow at his elbow.

"Beckett!" he snapped, then took a breath… swallowed.

_Calm. Be calm. It was a dream. Only a dream._

"Beckett," he sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "What… What are you doing here?"

The little boy was struggling to get up on top of the covers. "You were moaning," he grumbled, his slippered feet sliding against the silk. "I came to see what it was about."

Artemis put his good hand on the back of his brother's pyjama shirt and helped him to clamber up.

"You… should be in your own bed."

Beckett flumped over the duvet clamped tightly under his brother's arms and came to rest with his nose almost touching Artemis's stump. He glared at it.

"So it's true."

"What is?"

The little boy huffed. "Well, Mummy _said_ you'd lost your hand but I thought that just _couldn't_ be true because it was just too _careless_ of you Arty. You're _never_ careless. And I also didn't know it was possible to lose hands. I'm always losing my toys and my mittens and things, and Tara always says that I'd lose my head if it wasn't screwed on properly but–"

"You shall not lose your head, Beckett."

"Oh no. I won't lose my hands either. I'll keep a firm _grasp_ of them."

Beckett grinned up at his brother with white milk teeth. Artemis snorted softly. Then the little boy crawled forward, hesitantly, and touched a hand to his brother's bandage.

"When Mummy first told us I thought… I thought someone might have stolen it or something... something _terrible. _Or that you'd been fighting with… with _swords_ and someone, a _pirate_, had cut it off…"

Artemis's smile dimmed.

"Or… or that it was… it was the scratching creature."

"The what?"

"You know. The one you went to find."

_Another one of his childish fantasies._

"I thought maybe you'd found it and it had… it had bitten your hand off." Beckett sat up and twisted to look at his brother. "I can't hear the scratching anymore."

Artemis's eyes narrowed and he studied his brother's face.

_Scratching… scratching…_

Something faint and cold was flickering at the base of his mind, where it had been stamped down, repressed.

_Stairs_. _Themonster in the basement._

But then a sudden weight hit his eyelids. He was sinking fast again.

"Beckett," he muttered, suddenly terrifically tired. "You need… to go to bed."

The little boy's lip quivered. "But–"

"No." He pushed at his brother with his good hand, sliding him off the duvet. "Your own… bed, Beckett.

Rain was just beginning to pick at the windows, a sharp, angry wind snapping twigs against the panes. Beckett's mouth turned down.

"Mummy says… She says there's going to be a storm tonight."

"Yes," agreed Artemis, his head already dropping to the pillows. "I think… she is probably… right."

* * *

Holly stood in room lit only by a television. It was cluttered, with people as well as possessions. A baby was gargling in the centre of a matted carpet, surrounded by toys, stuffed animals, loomed over by a stained ironing-board and a dark-haired, dark-eyed teenager whom Holly had come to recognise so well. A young man was splayed on the sagging sofa, a cigarette in one hand, a can of lager in the other. Another man, around the same age but three times the size, was sunk into a threadbare armchair nearest the TV.

"Cal." He coughed. "Eh… Callum."

"Wah?" grunted the man on the sofa.

"Put that out would cha, man?"

The blonde frowned and dropped his hand lazily from his mouth. "Yah wha?"

"Yer fag like. I seen this advert ch'other day, babies smoking like. All comin' out chair noses and mouths… 'Orrible. Don't be doing it ta little Anna."

"Yer feckin' _soft_, man."

"Aye, like yer says like, but…"

Callum muttered something, stretched out and stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray on the floor.

"Annie," he barked, and the teenager on the floor stirred. "Go gerrus another can."

She didn't move.

"_Anne._"

"Go get it yerself."

He swung his foot out and kicked the girl in the back, hard enough to tip her sideways.

"_Shift._"

She gritted her teeth and got up.

The fat man opened his mouth. "Cal–"

"Don't," spat Callum, and pulled another cigarette from his pocket.

Annie came back with the drinks and threw her brother's against the back of the sofa. She put the larger man's on the arm of his chair.

"Thanks," he muttered.

She didn't reply, only dropped herself back to the carpet. The baby was chewing on a plastic set of keys now, her wide eyes glassy in the reflective glow of the television.

"_And now, playing for a thousand pounds…_"

"I've just about 'ad enough o' you," muttered Callum. "You an' yer feckin moods."

"_What is the capital of Uzbekistan? Is it A: Tashkent? B: Bishkek?"_

"Fer ony a grand?" snorted the big man loudly. "Jaysus Christ, no-one's gonna feckin know that."

"You've always got a face on. Always."

"_C: Ashgabat? Or D…. Istanbul?"_

Annie got up. "I'm goin' out."

"Where?"

"_You've still got all three life lines. You could still use any one of them._"

Callum sat up. "I said where?"

"Can I borrow yer hoodie again, Tank?"

The big man shifted, yanking it from under him. The girl pulled it on.

Callum rose to his feet. "Dunt you ignore me!"

She bent down and kissed the baby swiftly on the head. "I'll see yah later, Anna," she whispered.

Then her brother seized her arm.

"Get _off_ me!"

"Tell us where yer goin' then!"

"It's nun o' yer _business_!"

"Yer livin' in _ma _feckin' house, Annie!"

"If I fall then al hurt Anna!"

For a moment they were statues… and then Callum relaxed his grip. His nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Feck off then."

She took her chance, ducking sideways and grabbing a thinly-soled trainer from just under the sofa.

"Yeah, yah can feck off!" said Callum, louder. "Gerrof t'feckin _Fowl's_ house! Still asn't sunk in yet that he dunt give a flying _fuck _about chah?" She passed close to him and his spittle spattered her cheek. "Hasn't called yah in o'er two years like but no… you go up there, Annie, molly! He'll be there nah doubt!"

"Is that true, Annie?" asked Tank softly. "You still goin' up ta see little Arty Fowl's house?"

The girl didn't answer. She scraped up a set of keys from the ironing board and stalked out of the room. Tank heaved himself out of the chair.

"Leave 'er Tank!" roared Callum, but the bigger man ignored him.

Holly hurried out of the room.

"Annie!" shouted Tank. "Annie, wait now!"

The girl was crouched over in the tiny back courtyard, yanking a rusting chain from the back wheel of an equally rusting push-bike.

"Annie, slow down a sec' would cha? I'm trying ta talk ta yeh."

She knocked the kickstand off and wheeled the bike towards a wooden side door.

"Ignore yer brother, Annie," said Tank, his voice echoing off the walls of the alley. "He dunt mean what he says, like."

She stopped at the next door, snapping the lock aside and kicking it open. They all emerged onto a deserted terrace street, silent but for the sputtering buzz of one, lone street lamp. Annie swung her leg over the bike.

"Anne," continued Tank, his breath slightly laboured. "He… might sound sorta… harsh at ya like but… it's ony cos he _cares_, Anne."

Annie snorted. She wound a pedal backwards, poised her foot ready to take off. Tank gripped the handlebars.

"He just… He dunt like ta see ya so _miserable_, molly. He hates that Fowl boy fer what he's did ta ya. Hates that he can't _do _anythin'."

"It wasn't Artemis that did wrong," said Annie. Her voice was low, husky from disuse. "It was me what dun _him _wrong."

"Aye, maybe, but still, Anne… two years…" His face was pained. "I never met 'im, Annie, but a'v heard a lot about him from yer bro and uver peole. It sounds… it sounds like if he'd a wanted ta get in touch wit chers by now he coulda done it. He woulda found a way. What wit' all that money… and all them brains like. If he's not… ya know… what Callum thinks he's not an' all… _dead_, then–"

Annie pushed her full weight down onto one pedal. The bike lurched forward but Tank hung on, stopped her.

"_Listen ta me_!"

Annie glared at the floor.

"Listen to me." He sighed, rubbed a spare hand over his greasy head. "Just dunt… dunt go doing anythin' _stupid_, alroight? Yeh brother's scared yeh gonna–" He cut himself off.

Annie waited silently.

"Just…" Tank slid his hand off the bars. "Anne–"

And she was gone, pedalling hard, rocking the bike from side to side to gather momentum. Holly soared along beside her. The main roads were silent as they flew out from her brother's cul-de-sac, with only the odd minicab to challenge their rule of the road. The girl pushed hard through the city centre, as she found the midnight traffic, ignored the growing burn in her legs. Horns honked at her as she weaved through the jams. She clipped wing mirrors, occasionally scraped paint. It wasn't like she was trying to do it. She wasn't really thinking of anything. She ignored the gestures and the roars of anger as if they too were only the wind against her cheeks. And soon she was in the countryside.

She closed her eyes there, let the cold blow against her eyelids. The night pressed like a blanket on her shoulders, against her head and jacket like the touch of a guardian's hand, firm and purposeful, protective. It pushed her onwards. The road, shiny from a recent rainfall, flew beneath her and danced back the light from the street lamps. She opened her eyes and watched the patterns.

_Fire._

No, she mustn't think that. When she thought of fire she thought of Hell.

"_What do you mean?" _Artemis's father had demanded two years ago. "_What do you mean he's gone with the demons?_"

She pedalled a little harder, stood up, breathed steam.

"_Sir, I… it is a lot to explain."_

"_Is he dead? Is that what you are trying to tell us?_"

Annie had been sat on a disused servant staircase, one ear pressed to the plaster of the wall, two hands muffling her breaths.

"_No_," Butler had said, with a firmness that had, for a second, bolstered Annie. "_No, sir, I am not_."

She had closed her eyes.

"_And yet you return here empty handed."_

"_Where is my son?_" Angeline had gasped.

"_Missus Fowl_–"

"_Where is my son!_"

"_He's… he is gone_."

"…_with the demons," _Artemis senior had finished.

Some days, Annie felt as if she had followed him.

She got off the bike whilst it was still in motion and ran it to a halt. The iron security gates of Fowl Manor were still two hundred yards away but she had never had a use for that entrance. She never would. So she gripped the frame of her rusting bicycle and launched it into the tangle of brier and nettles at the side of the road. Then, using the bike and bushes as a makeshift trampet, jumped and bounced up onto the Fowl perimeter wall. Three grunts and a heave later she was up and over the top, crouching cat-like in the shadows on the other side. Her head snapped left then right before she was off, sprinting through the dense woodland.

Holly ran silently beside her.

Breaking into Fowl Manor was the easiest it had been in years. Artemis's lumping bodyguard had left the house two years ago, vowing not to return until he had his erstwhile principle back at his side. That, of course, had not happened. And so the manor's security had fallen into a state of negligence and disrepair. Cameras still stared down from every post and cranny, but Annie knew they were unmanned and unseeing. There were no gunned patrols, no electricity in the fences, no alarm to trigger if she stepped on a hidden line. Likewise had the gardens and grounds been allowed to slip. They were a jungle of weeds and thorns. Dark. Unwelcoming.

Annie paused, panting, slumped against a crumbling cupid.

The manor had not escaped the wrath of the gardens. Dark vines of ivy smothered the face of the house, strangling its stonework and creeping, thief-like, onto the wood of the windows. The previous shine of the steps and driveway had long since faded, along with the lights and the lamps in the trees. Nothing moved at night in Fowl Manor anymore. Only the spiders and the shadows.

She moved swiftly, Holly trailing behind her, around the corner of the west-wing until she came to a row of low-set windows. The girl dropped to her knees and winched one open. She dropped silently down into the kitchen, her trainers not making a single squeak on the polished floors. It was dark in here as well but it didn't matter. She knew her way around.

Her footsteps echoed as she walked across the grand foyer.

"_You should be more cautious," _warned a voice. "_Your recklessness will be your undoing."_

"Shut up," whispered Annie.

She started up the staircase, Holly following close behind her. The dark figure behind her kept close to her elbow.

"_You shouldn't ignore me either,_" it muttered. "_You know I'm always right."_

The girl stopped dead. "Yes," she hissed. "I know. But just lay off my case tonight would yah? I'm not in the mood for you."

And the boy faded in a wisp of shadow.

Annie slowed as she reached the top; the portraits in the corridors always gave her the creeps. Their eyes were… accusing; that's what Artemis had once described them as. He had joked a long time ago that he would be sure to wear sunglasses when it became his turn to sit for a portrait, so as to spare his future ancestors any grief. _No, you're just causing _me_ grief instead._

She reached The Door, its brass handle the only shining lever in a row of sixteen others. Annie knew she wasn't the only one visiting ghosts. She pushed it open.

As always, the smell was the first thing to hit her. Even after two years the room still smelt like him. Almost as if the carpets and furnishings were holding onto him as tight as she was. She ran her eyes over the sheets. They still hadn't been changed. They were folded just as they had been on the morning he had left them.

"_Well this is morbid," _drawled the shadow.

"Artemis, I'm warning you..."

"_Well really." _There was a slight breeze and suddenly there he was, sat in the Georgian armchair besides the bookcase. "_It's not as if you're going to find me _here_. Why keep coming back?"_

She stroked a hand across a pillowcase. Then her knee was raised to the sheets. She was crawling across them, to the west side, his side.

"I need to keep reminding myself."

"_Of what?"_

His hands, vapour and shadow, wrapped around her coat.

"Of you." She held onto his coldness. "I'm beginning to think you never existed. That you were just a dream."

He frowned, and Annie closed her eyes as his palm ghosted against the skin of her cheek.

"_We were never just a dream._"

* * *

Artemis knew he was dreaming. He knew because someone was laughing. He was clutching his stomach, hooting, reeling.

Then the noise cut off.

"_You_," hissed the creature, his twin, stalking quickly towards Artemis.

The teenager staggered backwards.

"_You did this."_

"What? What did I do?"

The creature raised a hand, ready to strike. Artemis cried out.

_Boom._

A rumbling was growing in the dark. The creature's eyes widened. It turned tail and ran, fled into the blackness.

"What have I done?" Artemis screamed after it.

"_The storm is coming_," whispered another voice.

"What storm? Please! I don't know what you're talking about!"

There was a hissing in the air, a whipping wind that snapped at Artemis's clothing. He cried out and flung an arm over his face. Blood filled his mouth, forced its way into his throat. He was coughing, choking. His foot slipped and dropped suddenly into a hole in the floor. He scrabbled at the darkness, trying to keep himself out.

Annie stood over him, untouched by the storm.

"_Why didn't you hear me, Art?"_

But he couldn't answer; his ears were too full of storm, he was losing grip–

* * *

Annie got up from the bed. It was a sharp movement, forced. She knew that if she stayed there too long then his smell would diminish. Already, she could smell herself in this room, the mustiness of Tank's sweat-stained hoodie. She took it off and kicked it under the bed, where it wouldn't spoil anything.

"I'll be back later," she whispered.

The shade in the corner nodded his farewell.

Holly followed her out of the room.

Annie walked quickly. She had discovered three weeks ago that the house would be free for the evening. The Fowl parents would be making one of their not infrequent visits to the man who had lost their son–

_to the demons_

– in Duncade and they would not be back until late tomorrow. She had the night and the house to herself. And she had… some business she wanted to attend to before returning to her vigil on the bed.

Artemis had always been the one to hold her head just out of the waters of serious crime but since his disappearance… she had slipped under. She haunted shadows Artemis had never even known existed. She heard things now, saw things… rumours and deeds she didn't tell her brother about, occurring at a distance but growing ever closer.

She climbed a new set of stairs, narrower than the main way, the carpet a deeper shade of scarlet. The double handles of the door above her were sheened with use. Annie didn't hesitate in pulling them open. The room beyond was as grand as any the manor contained: over twenty feet in length and gilded and panelled to a nineteenth-century gothic perfection. The bed was bigger than Artemis's, canopied and draped in plum silk, the sheets unturned, untouched. The furniture was all eighteenth-century, polished, of superb quality. But cold. Not at all like the rosy-cheeked wardrobe and burnished oak desk of Artemis's room that Annie had come to know as old friends.

The girl walked forward, eyes fixed on the floor.

The shadow was beside her again.

"_Step on a vine, count to nine_," he whispered.

She stepped on every liana in the weave, unheeding, and only when she had reached a low, Chinese tea-cabinet on the far side of the room did she pause. The thing was on castors, shifting easily under her touch, and underneath was the largest knot in the room. Every creeper, every plant in the pattern, fed into this ugly trap of wool. For a moment Annie stared at it.

Then she stamped on it, digging her heel into the green.

"One," she whispered.

Her heel sank slowly into the floor.

"Two."

The clicking started, the cranking of century-old cogs stirring into life.

"Three."

The noises travelled along the wall, creeping behind the antique paper.

"Four."

The huge bed gave a groan before the bottom two posters actually cracked inwards.

"Five."

They folded in, allowing the roof to tip forwards, down.

"Six."

A frescoed panel began to crank back in the ceiling.

"Seven."

The bed's roof continued to lower itself, revealing wooden stairs shaped into the top.

"Eight."

A dark hole had now fully opened in the ceiling, eight foot long and two feet wide.

"Nine."

The bed settled finally onto the floor with a soft _doom _and Annie was left staring up into the dark.

Artemis had never known about this, of that Annie was sure. He had repeated it to her on many an occasion the little rhyme which his father had whispered to him as a child; how it was the only superstition he really followed. Even then he had admitted the strangeness of it and how it surprised him about his father every time he uttered it. He had never considered the straightforward function of the statement.

Annie hadn't, until the night she had heard the cranking. She had spied on Artemis Senior, watched him, hidden in the shadows, as he'd moved the cabinet aside, ascended into the dark… That's when she'd thought something. Another whisper, a dark rumour…

There were no lights in the newly revealed passage, only the black slot into which the steps disappeared. Annie took the first stair cautiously. It creaked but felt sturdy enough. She climbed into the black.

As soon as her head broke the gap in the ceiling, a light sputtered into life. It was a dim light, warm, shining from a tiffany lamp sat on a desk of darkest juniper. Annie emerged into the small office, circular in shape, with handled, panelled walls and a carpet that matched that of the bedroom below. She climbed free of the last step and gazed around.

_You would have loved this, Art, _she thought.

Holly stood beside her, a feeling of deepest foreboding growing in the pit of her stomach.

Annie walked forward and touched the desk. A single photo frame was sat in the centre of the leather inset, leaning over a gilded pen case and a pad of yellow legal paper. She picked up the frame and two babies and their mother gazed out from behind the glass. The mother's smile was dimmed, unreal somehow. Annie put it back down.

She pulled open a desk drawer, unsurprised to find it unlocked. After all, who the hell would be looking up here? She quickly rifled through the contents. There were documents, envelopes, some hand written. She slumped down in the antique swivel chair and started to read.

"… agreement, Mister Hunter," she muttered, "only on the con… con_dition_ that our… our mu…tual be-ne-fac-tors receive exactly…"

She put it aside impatiently and picked up another sheet, one where the writing was not so dense. A simple post-it note.

"Then threaten to… remove The Neck."

A coldness crept along her spine. There it was; the name she had heard in the whispers. She closed the top drawer, opened the second.

"…shall have to be re…viewed. The Neck does not take threats… lightly."

_The Neck._

"… in Moscow are not to be tolerated. You, Mister _Neck_, are…"

_The Neck._

"… re-establish a link with Singapore. My asso…ciate, The Neck…"

_The Neck._

"… a meeting. The Neck shall be…"

_The Neck._

_The Neck._

_The Neck._

Annie's heart was pounding in her chest. It was everywhere; that name, the name that was only ever murmured. She wrenched open the bottom most drawer. There was nothing in there but a second photo frame laid face down against the wood. She lifted it out.

It contained school photograph of a boy, a young teenager, straight backed and dark haired.

His eyes had been scratched out.

Holly wanted to scream at her. "_Get out! Get out!"_

"Good evening," said a voice.

The photo frame dropped from Annie's hand.

At the top of the stairway, not three feet from where Annie was sat, stood Artemis Fowl the First. He had ascended the steps with the silent footfalls his first-born had inherited and was looking at the girl occupying his chair with polite amusement. Annie staggered clumsily to her feet.

"No, please," said the Fowl patriarch, "keep your seat. You looked very comfortable."

Annie didn't sit. Holly had backed into a panelled wall, her hands clasped to her chest.

"I see you've been looking through my personal effects," continued Artemis Senior. "That was most ill-mannered of you."

Annie's eyes darted about the desk. There was a letter-opener slotted in a rack just on the edge of the wood.

"Did you find anything of interest?"

Annie looked up to see that the man had raised a thin eyebrow, just like Artemis did when he was waiting for an answer.

Annie's lips tightened.

"I… I don't know. I can't… I can't read."

Artemis Senior cocked his head. "Come now, Ms Shinner. We both know that isn't true."

There was a moment of silence.

_He looks just like him. Just like him._

"My brother knows I'm here," she whispered.

"Which affects your situation… how?"

"He'd kill you. Touch me and he'll kill you."

"I highly doubt that."

Annie shot out a hand and grabbed the letter opener.

"Touch me and _I'll_ kill you."

Artemis Senior smiled. "_Better_."

The air in the room was getting thicker, harder to breath. Annie was brandishing the letter-opener as if it were a knife. Artemis Senior only watched her calmly.

"You knew my son."

Annie didn't answer.

"Well, former son." The man sighed. "He is in hell now, so I've been told: gone with the demons."

Annie's hand was shaking.

"What have you done to him?"

"Oh, nothing, I assure you."

"Like I would trust anything you say."

"Arty was the liar, Ms Shinner, not me."

Annie was suddenly seething, more angry than scared.

"He trusted you!"

The man's brow furrowed as if he'd been unfairly accused of cheating in a card game.

"I'm very sorry, Ms Shinner, but I'm going to have to ask you to explain yourself with that one."

Annie's fists clenched. The letter opener hung lower.

"Your _son_," she hissed. "He… I told him not to but… but he trusted you. You told him you were going straight and he believed you."

Artemis Senior looked just as confused.

"I'm afraid you are mistaken, Ms Shinner. You see my sons are barely three years old. And I cannot remember having promised them anything of the sort…"

Annie's eyes narrowed.

"_Get out!"_ screamed Holly. "_Get out!_"

"You have _three _sons."

"No. I have two sons. As I have told you, I once had a demon… but he is amongst his own kind now."

"_You_..." Annie's eyes were slits, her heart beating like a rabbit's. "_You _were _always_ the demon."

* * *

Artemis knew he was dreaming. He knew because he was dressed in a doublet and tights, holding a skull tightly in one hand.

"_Madnesse in great ones, should not Unwatched go_," said the bones.

Artemis jerked, repulsed, and dashed it to the floor. It exploded into white dust.

"_Though this be madnesse, Yet there is Method in't!_"

The teenager whirled around. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Who is talking?"

Then the earth was smoking; he was ripped backwards, wrapped around a thin, towering pyre. Annie stood beside him.

"_The earth can have but earth, which is his due; my spirit is thine, the better part of me._"

He writhed against the wood, fighting the bonds that had drawn his arms tight behind his back. He was shrieking, panicking. His father appeared, tall, strong. Artemis cried out for help but the man only stared blankly down.

"_Why can't I hear the scratching, Arty?"_

"What?" gasped Artemis.

The flames were licking at his feet.

"_I should not have named you Artemis. For now you will never be able to escape the consequences of my own sins."_

_Sins?_

Then Beckett was crouched beside him.

"_Why can't I hear the scratching, Artemis?_"

The fire lapped at his knees. He stretched out his neck, twisting his head away from the burn, screamed–

* * *

"And anyway," continued Artemis Senior. "Who has said anything about my _not _being 'straight' as you call it? If you apparently cannot _read_, Ms Shinner, then how could you possibly know anything about my dealings?"

"I've heard things. Things said about you."

"No. What you have heard are rumours about an individual called 'The Neck', not I."

Annie licked her lips.

"I know enough. And enough people know enough."

Artemis Senior considered her calmly. The letter-opener still shook in her grasp.

"They'll come here and get you, stop you from piling in on their turf."

"No," he said softly, "they shall not. And I'm afraid that you are now only one of four select individuals who have even a vague inkling about my undertakings."

On the words 'select individuals', Artemis Senior had taken another step forward.

Annie's back hit the rear of the office.

"I'll tell them," she whispered. "I'll tell them all what you really are."

Artemis Senior frowned, almost pityingly. Annie recognised that look and for a moment she was reminded so much of the boy she'd lost that it hurt.

"Come now, Ms Shinner," said the man softly, his blue eyes still and piercing. "We both know you are not leaving this house alive."

And that's when Annie attacked.

She thrust forward with a roar, stabbing her right hand towards the elder Fowl's stomach. But the man was ready. He shifted his weight, knocked her arm and her body aside with practiced ease so her shoulder crashed into the wood panels. She twisted, ready to try again, when he collided hard with her back, flattening her, face forward, to the wall.

"Get off!" she screamed, her cheek and chest bruising against the wood.

He ignored her, reaching for her squirming wrists. He grasped the hand that held the letter-opener and slammed it again and again into the wall. She hung on, the wood cracking beneath her fingers, before, with a scream, the weapon fell. She lashed out, shrieking, clawing, but Artemis Senior rammed her back to the wood, pinning her and cutting off any chance of escape.

Holly could only watch, her hands clutched to her mouth, as Annie struggled in what was swiftly becoming a losing battle. Artemis Senior had trapped one of her arms behind her back, pushing it in a way that was almost popping it out of its socket. Her other hand was bleeding profusely, her palm pushing desperately against the wall. The man grabbed her by the back of her hair and slammed her face-first into the hard, unforgiving wood of the panelling. There was a terrific crack and he hauled her backwards with the rebounding force of the blow, stepping aside so that the small of her back collided heavily with the edge of the desk, and she fell, slumping, broken to the floor.

Panting, Artemis Senior stood back and let his head flop against the wall, eyes shut.

"_Get up_," pleaded Holly. "_Get up._"

Slowly, deliberately, Annie raised her head. She dragged herself away from him, blood streaming from a shattered nose. For a second or so, Artemis Senior didn't move, but finally he looked up, lurched forward with a shallow growl.

Too late.

She had already snatched up the fallen letter-opener and stabbed backwards, driving the brass point straight into his trouser leg. The man screamed like a banshee and Annie, with a brief sob, scrambled to her feet.

_Thank fuck I got the right leg, _she thought, staggering through the chaos of pain, panic and adrenaline.

She had just reached the top of the stairwell when something collided once more with her back. She went down hard, her chest hitting against the first step, branding a line of pain across her ribs and forcing the air from her lungs. Fingers tightened once more in her hair, wrenching her backwards.

"No!" she screeched, her voice distorted by the new angle of her throat. "_No!_"

She raked first at his hand and then through the short pile of the carpet, her fingernails leaving shallow grooves as he dragged her backwards into the office. In one brutally sharp movement, she was thrown flat. His left hand was clutching his leg, blood darkening the grey wool to black.

"You'll regret that," hissed Artemis Senior, his blue eyes showing much too much white. "These trousers were vintage Westwood."

For a moment Annie's mouth gaped…and then the letter-opener was against her throat. Her jaw snapped shut, muscles straining as she reared back, choking, scrabbling to grasp the blade with both hands. It was blunt, unable to pierce her skin. But that wasn't the intention. The metal had completely sealed off her windpipe.

Artemis Senior hung above her, his black hair in disarray.

"_No_," whispered Holly. "_No. No!_"

Annie's hands flailed against his, her eyes bulging, her chest and hips bucking, legs kicking uselessly.

"_Ninety per cent of accidents occur in the home."_

Was this what it had been like for her father, looking up into those Fowl-blue eyes? Was this what he had felt?

Artemis Senior leant down hard. He could feel her body weakening beneath him, her scrawny struggles fading as bit by bit her body shut down.

_Artemis…_

The light dimmed in her eyes.

Holly was sobbing now, crouched in a corner, her arms folded tightly above herself.

Annie's eyes rolled back.

_Artemis…_

She finally lay still.

"Timmy? Timmy, what's happening?"

Artemis Senior shot to his feet. "Darling," he said, grimacing slightly as the pain flared in his punctured shin. "What are you doing up here?"

Angeline Fowl gaped around at the smashed lamp, the broken wall panels, the girl lying prone on the carpet. She was dressed only in her nightgown and silk robe, her bare feet ghostly pale against the carpet. "Timmy… what?"

Then Annie sucked in a sudden breath as if surfacing from the depths of lake. She rolled onto her side, choking, heaving into a coughing fit.

"That's… that's Arty's girl isn't it?" whispered Angeline as Annie continued to fight for air. "The one who always came to visit him."

Timmy frowned and limped to his wife's side.

"She has been sneaking into our house, Angeline. She has done our son a disservice."

"A… a what?"

Tears were streaming down Annie's face. She couldn't breathe, _couldn't breathe._

"She knows," whispered Artemis Senior.

His wife's eyes widened. "But you said no one could know."

"Exactly, my love. And that is why…"

Annie's hand clapped against the leg of the desk. She attempted to raise herself but her slick palm slid against the wood. She was too weak, _too weak._

"But Artemis… Artemis would be so upset on his return. You remember them together, my love? How they danced on the roof…"

Artemis Senior's face darkened. "We have talked about this, Angeline. That… that boy was not our son."

Angeline swallowed. She watched as the girl attempted to get to her knees.

"But, my love… It… It is Arty's time now. He's been taken away for a while, like you were, but he'll… he'll come back and he shall be good again… just like you were… You'll see. He shall be… resurrected. We all shall."

Artemis Senior looked into his wife's eyes and realised there was no hope in arguing. He sighed heavily.

"Keep her," said Angeline, laying her palm against his cheek. "Keep her safe for Arty. And when he returns, we shall deal with her as a family"

Artemis Senior nodded. "As you will."

Angeline smiled and turned back down the stairway. "Goodnight, my darling. I shall see you on the morn."

"Goodnight…"

And she was gone, drifting like a lost spectre out of sight. Artemis Senior waited until he had heard the bedroom doors close before seizing Annie by an ankle and pulling her after his wife. Annie didn't have the breath or strength to scream as she was dragged, roughly, down the hidden steps, across the bedroom, and onto the thin stairway. The carpet of the corridors burned the skin of her back, as she passed door after door, the Fowl portraits staring down at her now with something more akin to pity than contempt. The marble cooled her wounds as she was wrenched across the grand foyer and finally Annie began to gather an inkling of where she was being taken. She attempted to struggle, to kick, but it was useless.

"_No_…" whispered Holly, watching as they took that fateful passageway, down to the place of so many lingering nightmares. "_No_… _Gods no._"

Artemis Senior smiled as he stepped inside the concrete cell.

"Yes, this shall do nicely," he commented, sliding Annie's limp, battered body over the threshold. "I believe Arty had it built in the years I was missing. Never did tell me why…" He frowned, inspecting the low, shortened cot in the corner of the room and the fist-sized hole cracked in the floor besides it. "It always looked as if he'd had it made for a child… really made me dread to ask…"

Annie was still too out of it to appreciate the irony. She squinted up at her capturer through blackening eyes, her mouth parted, almost questioning. Artemis Senior stared back for a moment… before kicking her, viciously, in the head with the toe of his patented-leather brogue.

* * *

Holly felt nothing as she followed Artemis's father to the family garage. Nothing, as he picked out a car from the end of the row: a grey Ford Fiesta, ten years old, with a number plate that would lead the police nowhere. Nothing, as he keyed the ignition, drove to the end of the driveway and turned west, stopping to pick Annie's bike from the bush with his gloved hands before starting off for the city.

He cruised the outskirts of Dublin, to a few select streets only frequented by select people. He kept his speed down, scrutinising each female face he passed. Eventually he stopped.

The girl that trotted up to his window must have been only sixteen or seventeen years old. Her hair was bleached a straw-like canary yellow and she was chewing gum.

"Yah lookin' fer business, Mister?" she asked, fear and desperation playing behind her smile.

Artemis Senior nodded and she got in. One swift, underhand injection later and the girl was lying comatose on the back seat, snoring into the stained nylon. It took ten minutes for them to get to Crook Lane. Fowl Senior got out of the car and opened the boot, tossing Annie's already well-abused bike onto the pavement. He got the girl next, carried her up to the house. The door was already open, the hall filled with leaves and broken bottles. He carried her right to the top floor.

The bag had broken in his pocket; one of Annie's canines had pierced the plastic, attempting to escape just as its owner had when Artemis Senior had first put the pliers in her mouth. His next victim was much quieter, sleeping on in her drugged, ignorant state. He swapped like for like and stood back to admire his crooked handy work.

He fetched the petrol next. He hefted the tank to his shoulder, carelessly dousing the house as he went: the curtains, chairs, carpets, the ceilings. When he reached Harold Shinner's room, he lifted the tank above the girl's body and upended it. Her hair flattened to her head, liquid trailing from her clothes, her mouth. He pulled a lighter from his pocket. He snapped it back.

And dropped it.

* * *

Artemis woke with a scream.

His head was filled with a thousand crying voices.

He knew. _He knew._

"_No!"_

* * *

Holly woke bolt upright. Foaly was staring at her, as was No.1. They were frozen, horror-struck.

Holly looked straight into the centaur's eyes.

"Annie's still in the house._"_

* * *

**Now play Coheed and Cambria's 'Welcome Home' and wait for the final chapter**_**.**_

**Oh, but give me a review first?**

**I wanna hear your reactions on this one...**

**P.S. Big thanks to Wolfy for sorting out Annie and Art Senior's fight!**

**P.P.S. And BIG thanks to CeiloCrimisi for sorting everything else - glad to have you back my lovely :)**


	16. Chapter 16 If You Go, I Go

A/N: So here's a belated Christmas pressie :)

**THIS CHAPTER IS ONCE AGAIN AN 'M'!**

**LOT'S OF VIOLENCE! SERIOUSLY!**

**So for any younger readers, be warned.**

Also, this is un-beta'd so if you spot any mistakes (which this beast shall undoubtedly by full of) then tell me and I'll fix it :) I just thought it'd been a while since I posted and you'd rather I got the chapter out than... yeah. You know the spiel.

* * *

_Disclaimer: Hmm, ya. Still not Eoin!_

_Soundtrack: Roses For the Dead - Funeral For A Friend (how appropriate)_

_Dedication: To Sleekpelt! Who wrote me review poetry. I am being completely serious - REVIEW POETRY! Made my day._

* * *

_**'You murdered me a very long time ago. It is about time I returned the favour.'**_

* * *

Chapter Sixteen - If You Go, I Go

Holly rammed the communicator against her ear.

"C'mon, _c'mon_!" she roared. "Pick up! D'arvitting _pick up_!"

"I'll clear your route to the surface," said Foaly, his wan face lit by the screen of his tablet. "There's a flare in half an hour. Take a pod and you'll be there by midnight."

Holly screamed with frustration and slammed the hand-set back down.

"What about gear?"

"I'll have someone ready at the docking bay with wings and a field kit."

"And Trouble?"

"I'll deal with him."

* * *

**THIS IS AN 'M' RATED CHAPTER - CONTAINS GRATUITOUS VIOLENCE AND SCENES OF A DISTRESSING NATURE**

* * *

Fat tears were trailing down No.1's face. He was wringing his hands, his bottom lip trembling. "I should come with you," he said, his forehead crinkling into stone-coloured rumples. "Annie will probably need extensive healing and–"

"You'd be too slow," snapped Holly, shoving one arm into a jacket. "Those pods are only built for one and I'm not dragging all your bodyguards into this too."

The demon looked wounded but didn't protest. Holly yanked up her left sleeve and snatched up the communicator again.

"Why isn't he _answering? _He _always_ answers! He carries the thing around on his _finger_ for Frond's sake!"

"Have you tried the old one?" asked Foaly.

"Yup, and it's the same thing: no-one's answering."

"It's probably flare interference. I'll try through my network."

"Right, good." Holly grabbed her keys and wrenched open the front door. "If I'm not back by tomorrow then send a team. I'm going to try and reach Artemis first, but if he and Butler aren't in the house, then I'm going straight for the basement."

The centaur frowned. "What about the Mud Man police? Do you want me to call them?"

"No. They'd probably cause more harm than good. And Artemis Senior probably has something set up to detect a human authority's approach anyway – I don't want him warned."

Foaly nodded. "Alright. Good luck. And keep me in on this, Holly. You know it's going to dangerous."

"When isn't it?"

The door closed with a _bang._

* * *

Artemis hit the carpet running.

It was as if he had been asleep these past few days. He had been numbed, dreaming. His life had become some twisted stage play he had been observing from the stalls.

"_She had laid there, on the left side, traditionally my side."_

"_She went there! She went to your house before she died!"_

His feet pounded onwards. He descended the main staircase taking three steps at a time.

"_And do you know how they identified her? Her teeth!"_

"_Come now, Art, have you lost your touch?"_

"_The Neck is in Ireland."_

"_I can't hear the scratching, Arty."_

He flew down the main hallway.

One step, two… four, five, six. He grabbed the torch from its shelf in the foreman's closet. It flashed ahead of him, bright, vibrant. It rested finally on the door of Holly Short's former cell.

_I was here,_ he thought, _I was metres away. _

Last time, he remembered, the door had been shut.

Now it was open.

* * *

Butler scowled through the rain-lashed windscreen of the Land Rover. He was forty miles away from the manor speeding down a deserted country lane in a storm which had just reached a new fever-pitch. The car had aquaplaned four times already leaving him to fight the wheel lock and use all his considerable driving skill just to stay on the tarmac. How he was going to perform a reconnaissance in this weather he did not know.

_Maybe ten years ago…_

Heck, maybe five years ago. But the Kevlar had done for that. He was an old man now and only getting older.

_But not wiser. You know you should be at the manor._

He knew, and yet he had his orders. His soldier senses were beating him as hard as the machine-gun drum of the rain on the rooftop but... if the Neck was local then it was his duty to find him and stop him.

_Kill him._

For what he'd done to Artemis, perhaps. He hadn't killed in so long. But he so easily could.

_For that. I could. _

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, feeling the metal give beneath his grasp.

Artemis had seemed so small hidden beneath the folds of that mystery sweatshirt, under the king-size sheets of the bed, head covered, useless arm cradled to his stomach. He had seemed almost a child: a little boy, lost and weak. Butler had decided to call the fairies there and then… but Artemis had been in no state to consult about it, the boy's laptop was encrypted and his communicator ring… well that was wherever his hand was. And so Butler had obeyed Mr Fowl's instructions instead, and set off for the Neck.

_I'll call Holly the instant I get back. Maybe she'll have contacts. Foaly, No.1: maybe they'll have a fix for Artemis's arm._

The steering wheel gave a little more.

And then he heard the bleeping.

Butler sunk a hand inside his jacket, practically crushing his mobile into the hands-free jack attached to the dashboard.

"Artemis–"

"_Ah_," interrupted a strangely familiar drawl. "_Finally. One member of the Fowl contingent who answers their phone._"

Butler glared at the device. There, the impossible: _caller unknown _writtenin bold italics across the screen.

"Who is this? How did you get this number?"

There was a faint chuckle. "_Don't you recognise me? We met just yesterday. And let's just say I know a man. He knows all the numbers…"_

A tall, willowy teenager with blonde hair, green eyes and his arms cradled around Artemis's back flashed through the manservant's mind.

"Brannagh."

"_Tuley, please."_

"What do you want?"

"_I want vengeance, my good man._"

"Vengeance–?"

"_But first I need you to turn your vehicle around and get straight back to your master."_

"And why–?"

"_Because,_" hissed Tuley, all pretence of calm vanished,_ "your employer is a vulpine monster birthed from the very seed of Satan himself and should not be permitted to draw another breath further. Now, I am my no means singular in holding this opinion, and even as we speak, forces outside of my control are advancing upon Fowl Manor to carve your little Arty into pieces small enough to post through a napkin ring. Is that reason clear enough?"_

Butler's foot slammed down on the brake pedal.

* * *

The first thing to hit him was the smell. The stench of bile, excrement and sweat assaulted his senses like an actual, physical force, pushing him back a step, causing his stomach muscles to cramp and flip. He stifled a wretch and flung his good arm over his mouth and nose. Then his crinkled eyes began to focus.

Something, or someone, had obviously been kept in the cell for a very long time. The walls were smothered by blankets of industrial insulating wool, keeping the stale air close, almost suffocatingly so. The whole arrangement was leaking dust and the noxious motes, starkly visible in the glare of the torch, swirled at his breath, cloying at his airwaves. The cot was unmade. The sheets were stained varying shades of yellow and burgundy, in patches, bitumen-black. And then there was the bucket in the corner, full, overflowing, malignant.

Artemis held the beam steady as he moved it through the silence, across the room, the walls, down to the bed. He saw the loose hairs trapped in the fibres of the only pillow, long and black, brittle.

The mattress was sunken low in the centre as if the person who had slept there had done so curled up, hugging at their knees. He walked closer, and pushed a hand firmly onto the bedding. It was cold.

_But this room was not vacated long ago, _he deduced, swallowing horror, swallowing panic,_ some of these stains are fresh._

He drew the light sharply upwards. His gaze narrowed, hawk-like, as he scoured the wool on the walls and ceiling. It was patchy but thick, obviously put up by a novice.

_Soundproofing, _thought Artemis, swallowing fear, swallowing anger, _but of course they would not want their prisoner to be heard._

Then he noticed the largest gap in the wool. It had been ripped open, without care and in haste. Written in the plaster, scraped with either a blunt tool or a fingernail, was one word repeated a dozen times, each letter ugly, uneven.

"_Art,_" he whispered.

_Art. Art. Art. Art. Art. Art. _

_ART._

The blood fled from his head. He felt suddenly faint, dizzy. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth.

"_Can you hear the scratching?" _

He fought for calm in the darkness, breathed heavily in the fumes. The room had not been vacated for long. The only important thing was she hadn't _burnt_ all those months ago; she'd only been beneath him, waiting, _calling _for him.

"Annie," he muttered, walking back from the wall, his heart set. "Annie, I am coming. I'm–"

He turned.

* * *

Holly strode into the docking station, deaf to the shouts of the gnome on duty.

"This is disgraceful!" he blustered as she plucked her wing-rig and combat pack from his burly arms. "I don't care what the big bosses say; I don't think you should be allowed such special treatment! No sir!"

Holly jammed on the helmet and swung the rest of her kit over her back. She didn't even register the stab of the wing generator as its corner hit, hard, against her spine.

"You know I've heard you're crazy?" asked the gnome, following her down the port's gangway. "Totally do-lally! Fruit-da-loop! A _basket case_."

Holly stopped at the right pod and inserted her key card. A light flashed green. The gnome continued his remonstrating even as the pod's pneumatic doors hissed and slid upwards.

"You'll only get yerself killed!" he screeched as Holly punched her bag into the tiny hold behind her seat. "And then where will we be? One dead elf on the surface for all them Mud Men to cut up and find out all about us!"

Holly swung herself in and the door slammed down nearly cleaving the gnome's nose and fingers clean off.

"That'll be it!" His voice was muffled now but still audible. "Just you wait!"

Holly buckled the harness and finally looked at the gnome.

"I'd advise you to stand back." Her voice was a dangerous monotone.

"Oh, would you? Would you now?" The gnome's chest inflated. "Well you'll be leaving when I says you'll be leaving and not any the sooner! I've got the switch you see and I–"

Holly sunk Foaly's override key into the computer and the pod was blasted backwards on its rail.

Needless to say, the gnome should have stood back.

* * *

"_No_!" shrieked Artemis, rearing away, his bare back hitting wall, scraping at the wool. "_No! No!_"

He had never hated his genius before. But now it was processing the facts indifferent to his screams. If he could, he would have ripped his whole brain free from his skull.

_The spatter pattern signifies a gunshot wound to the chest. The bullet entered in the left side, puncturing the heart and exiting through the back, which would account for the excessive amount of spray and matter. _

"_No. No."_

_The colour and saturation of the wool point to the death having occurred less than twenty-four hours ago._

He was crying now, beating at his head, his thoughts.

_The tracks show that she then collapsed, on her left side, to the floor and lay there for at least ten minutes before being contained by another person, most probably her murderer, and removed. _

_Her murderer. _

Artemis had turned his face into the wall, his eyes shut, his mouth a gaping hole of grief. Sense had abandoned the world. _He _had almost abandoned the world.

_Her murderer._

It was all ended. Again. She was gone. Again.

He sucked in a raw, aching breath and screamed.

* * *

"Who wants to kill Artemis?" demanded Butler.

"_Oh, I don't have time to give you the comprehensive list,_" drawled the young man, his voice barely audible above the roar of the speeding Land Rover now headed in the opposite direction. "_Suffice to say,_ a lot of people_._"

"Why?"

"_Why? Truly? Does he ever tell you anything besides which cufflinks he would prefer that day?"_

Butler rammed the gearstick roughly into sixth.

"_Why?" _he roared.

"_Because he cut off the arm of Martin Kilglooney."_

A picture of Victor Kilglooney's prognathous face loomed in the bodyguard's mind. He remembered Artemis's barely concealed indignation as he was looked up and down by the Baron at Saturday's party.

"What are you talking about?"

Tuley sighed causing a rush static. "_The Neck. He has cut off the varying appendages of the seven children of the ones who attended his meeting and refused him, my leg included. Victor Kilglooney was in on it; him and whatever other lowlife bastard was on that screen. They colluded to keep it all one, big, foul secret. Then Martin's arm was taken and that wasn't part of the deal." _Tuley's voice grew louder, as if he were leaning closer into the phone. _"Your master has made a mistake,"_ he spat._ "Now Victor has turned, told everyone the truth about The Neck's identity and he's set a price on the Fowl family's head: three million US dollars to the ones who can give him their bodies. Victor wants them destroyed, every last one of them, for what your master has done to his son. So do a lot of people now, people who will just as easily do it for free."_

Butler knew he should just shut the phone down there and then. But he had to know, to hear Brannagh actually _say_ it in that voice which sounded so much like the boy's he had been born to protect.

"But what does this Neck have to do with _Artemis_?"

"_It has _everything _to do with Artemis!_" shouted Tuley._ "Artemis Senior _is_ the Neck! He's the one who's been gaining territory in the Pacific, who ordered the cull in Murmansk, who has ordered and organised every amputation. And nobody so much as _shits_ in the Fowl family without Art knowing about it first! He has done this to me! To all of us! He's behind it all!"_

"But Artemis's _own_ _arm_ was taken!" roared Butler.

Tuley's voice dropped to a murmur."_And isn't that the _genius_ of it? No-one would suspect if he himself had been attacked, would they?" _He screamed._ "Would they?!_"

"Why are you telling me this? If you want him dead, why would you warn me?"

"_Because Callum Shinner has a four-hour head-start on me, and with you there, there might at least be something left of Art to shoot at by the time I get back across the channel._"

Butler cut the connection.

* * *

Artemis was crouched near the floor, his heart hammering.

_Her murderer. _

He stood up and the torch dropped from his fingers.

_Her murderer. _

He climbed the stairs, his thoughts making blurs of corridors and landings. He crossed the entrance hall.

_Her murderer. _

He did not stop to notice the corpse of the head of the Manor security team, his bearded, sightless face leaking into the carpeting of the stairs. He reached the second level unmolested, stepping over, unseeing, three more security corpses littering the Fowl manor stairway.

_Her murderer._

Then there was a thin, almost puff-like noise: air being blown through a straw.

It was a bad shot, made all the worse for the arm of the shooter's comrade smashing into the barrel mid-pull. The bullet drilled into the wall over Artemis's head, splintering the wainscot. The teenager didn't even duck.

"Fucking Hell!" cried a voice from ahead, a set of footsteps clacking nearer. "Didn't cher hear the boss? Them's not ta be shot, Tank! Nun o' the Fowls are!"

A firm, fat hand grasped Artemis's arm.

"Little Artemis Fowl," said Tank quietly. Then he drew back his other, chubby fist and slammed it into the side of the teenager's head. The boy was knocked to the floor. Boot falls followed him, a brief moment of respite, and then steel-capped toes swung into soft flesh.

The teenager cried out.

"Stop it!" yelled a voice. The first man attempted to shove Tank aside but couldn't shift him. "_Stop it, d'you hear_?"

Artemis curled on the ground, every blow splitting his insides, causing more blood to spatter past lips.

The first man was grappling to get between them. "Stop it! Just stop it, Tank! Let's just gerrim ta Callum. You'll 'av yer chance ta get beatings later, no doubt!"

"He deserves it," panted Tank. "He…" He swallowed.

"I _know_. But let's jus' get 'im ta Callum first, alroight?"

There was a pause filled only with heaving breaths and the faint clank of the manor's ancient heating system.

Then Tank dropped to the ground, yanked a shaking, panting Artemis close. "Ya hear that? _Did_ _ya_? Ya know yer all gonna die tonight, little Fowl. And I am _prayin' _ta be the one that does fer you."

Artemis gritted his teeth. "Take me... to him."

"What?"

"_Take me to him!_" roared Artemis.

Tank dug his nails into the teenager's dressings.

_I've got 'im, _he thought as he yanked the teenager upwards. _I've got 'im Anne, and I'm gonna do right by you, right by little Anna too. We'll get yer revenge at long last._

Two hours ago, Tank had been sat in a plastic waiting-room chair staring at the jungle mural on the wall of a loud and bustling paediatrics department. He had been brooding, his thoughts completely with his best friend two corridors away; in a tiny room with his girlfriend, a few sympathetic doctors, and their newly-blinded daughter. Anna had barely turned three years old. She hadn't hurt a soul. And if her daddy had then that was his business – what sick bastard would take out his crimes on her? When he and Callum found them (and they would) they would kill them – they'd flay them alive – and then murder them, bury them so deep they'd be able to give them a personal hand over to Satan…

Then Callum had come banging out of the department's double doors.

"It's 'im," the blonde had hissed, tucking a forbidden mobile into the pocket of his jacket. "I know now it's _him_."

Tank had risen. "Who? Where?"

"_Fowl._"

And Tank had felt as if he had known all along.

* * *

With each unsteady step down his ancestral corridors, Artemis's purpose grew clearer. There was no red mist, no blackness. He found he could ignore the pain in his missing hand, his bruise-mottled torso, the burn of the gun muzzle branding his bare spine… Yes, he could ignore all that.

It would all end tonight:where it should have ended years ago.

He could see everything so clearly now – events stretching back years, decades. It was as if someone was laying a story out behind is eyes, leading him through it plot twist by plot twist, pointing out the hand of the writer, the hidden voice of the narrator.

_Do you see, Arty? Do you see who it was all along?_

They arrived at a closed door which Tank promptly kicked open. Artemis recognised his father's second office but not three of the men already occupying it. The strangers were armed and grim-faced, all smoking cigarettes, all covered with scars and tattoos. The blonde man seated behind the desk stood up at Artemis's appearance.

"Arty Fowl," said Callum Shinner quietly.

But the teenager had eyes only for his father, knelt, quivering on the shag of his own Persian carpet.

"Where did you bury her?" he demanded.

Callum frowned. He glanced once at Tank and the teenager was pushed forward. Artemis strode past Shinner's men, gathering momentum, until, before any of them could react, he had stretched his good hand forward and grabbed his father by the collar.

"_Where?" _he screamed, shaking his father's neck. "_Where?"_

Then three pairs of hands wrestled him back. One fist punched him, hard, in the stomach and he doubled over. Artemis Senior was left panting and dishevelled on the carpet.

Callum narrowed his eyes at Artemis. "What the _fuck_–?"

"He's mad," gasped Artemis Senior, as his first-born wheezed in the stranger's grip. "This is what I have been trying to… explain to you, Callum. He is out of his mind!"

"Shut up!" snapped Callum. He walked out from behind the desk until he stood not three foot from Artemis. "You took my baby's eyes, Fowl."

All the teenager could do was suck oxygen down his straw of a throat.

"They took her from her nursery… on your say so… and they cut out her eyes." He curled thin, cigarette-stained fingers around Artemis's boot-muddied shoulder. "Do you… do you have any _idea _what… what I'm going to do to you for that?"

Artemis closed his eyes and tilted his head back, taking his first clear breath.

"I'm going ta take you home with me, Fowl. And I'm going ta take my time with you. I'm goin' ta make it messy, Fowl. I'm goin' to make it seem like it'll never end. I'm goin' ta take what you took from my little girl. I'm goin' ta take what you took from everyone. And then, maybe, I'll take what you took from my sister–"

"Where… did you bury her?" rasped the teenager. He was looking past Callum to the man on the carpet.

The blonde gripped Artemis's bruised chin.

"You fuckin' look at me," he hissed, staring into the mismatched eyes. "You fuckin' _look _when I'm tellin' ya–"

"_Where?_"

_Smack._

Artemis's head snapped to the left.

Artemis Senior swallowed. "Maybe… maybe you should take him away _now_, Callum." His unbound hands were slick with sweat, slipping as he clasped and unclasped them. "You won't get any sense from him here–"

"Shut _up!_" roared Callum.

He glanced at Tank, at the dark-haired boy. He breathed in deeply through his nose.

"What're ya talkin' about?" he demanded finally.

Artemis's head turned slowly back to look at him.

Artemis Senior looked pained. "Callum, I have _told _you. He's _mad–_"

"_Shut it!" _bellowed the eldest Shinner, jabbing a finger in the man's direction. "You just _shut the fuck up!_ I asked _him! Now!_" He gripped Artemis's chin and forced his face up to the light. "_Who?_"

Artemis licked bloodied lips. "Who… would you imagine?"

Callum's face hardened.

"_I _buried Annie."

"You buried a stranger."

With swift and practiced ease, Callum drew a handgun from his inside pocket and pressed it to Artemis's forehead.

"Yer a liar."

"Really?" The teenager squinted wearily past the narrow barrel. "And what would my motive… possibly be?"

Callum's brown eyes quivered in their sockets, the gun wavered.

"I did not harm… your baby, Callum."

"Yer just a mental case, like yer da says."

"Look… in the basement."

Artemis Senior had moved closer, shuffled towards them on his knees. "It is _over_," he pleaded. "Just… just give it up, son. They all know… they all know what you've done. What you've put your family through. Just… just stop it now."

Callum looked between the two Fowls. He licked his lips again, glanced at Tank, at his men.

"Well I say kill 'em both," said Tank. "Put 'em both out o' their misery."

"Look… in the basement," repeated Artemis.

They stared at each other a moment, brown against blue… and something in the teenager's eyes told Callum Shinner the truth. His gun was lowered.

"Murphy, Nolan," he barked without looking around. "Go down ta the basement. Take a radio and tell me what ya find."

"Aye, boss."

Two of the strangers stubbed out their cigarettes and turned to leave.

"Do you want me ta go wit' them?"

Callum looked at his oldest friend.

"No, Tank, you stay here. I got more questions fer–"

Then Artemis Senior lurched forward, wrenching the gun from Callum's loosened grip.

The blonde was the first to die, followed swiftly by Tank, Murphy, Nolan, and the man who had tried to stop Artemis from being beaten to death in the corridors above. They died surprised, their hands not even halfway to their firearms, driven back by shock and bullets. Shots exploded above the teenager's head and Artemis dropped to his knees on the carpet. The hands of the man behind him opened limply against his arms.

When his ears had stopped ringing, when the smell of burning metal had somewhat drifted away, Artemis looked up.

Artemis Senior was straightening his tie with one hand. He was on his feet. He was no longer shaking, no longer cowed. The gun he was pointing at his son's head was held in a sure, steady grip.

"Well, Arty," he said, as it were simply the end of a pleasant evening spent playing card games. "We've had more than enough talk up until now so I'll make this brief."

"Just tell me," rasped the son. "Where… Where is she?"

Artemis Senior frowned pityingly, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

She was hurtling through a barrage of magma and rocks at over 340 miles-per-hour. She has lost communications twenty minutes ago. She was on her own, sweat dribbling in beads from a spiked, saturated hair line. The steering stick was fighting her at every turn, threatening to throw her off course, to delay her by another few dozen minutes.

"Come on!" she screamed at the dashboard.

The numbers on the depth meter were slowly turning down. _Slowly_. _Slowly_.

Another mountain of boulder and half-molten stone bleeped urgently on the sonar. She swerved just in time, but felt and heard the scream of something else near-fatal scraping the under-belly of her pod.

_I'm coming, Annie, _she thought, wiping a quick forearm over her brow. _I'm coming._

* * *

Something clicked.

Artemis Senior frowned. He pulled the trigger again… and again.

Nothing.

"What the deuce–?"

And then Artemis Junior raised the firearm he had slipped from his captor's holster whilst his father had been busy fixing his tie.

"Oh." Artemis Senior laughed. He slapped one palm to his crimson-spattered forehead and sighed. "How silly of me. Of course. Of _course._" He tossed the gun to the floor along with its empty, useless clip. "Well, Arty boy, you have got me _yet_ _again_."

Artemis's left hand was trembling with the effort of keeping the pistol raised. His wrist was weak, made all the weaker from the drugs still swimming about his system, shock, and the injuries he had taken earlier. But he still rose on protesting knees, keeping the barrel level.

"Well?" demanded Artemis Senior, an ironical smile pulling at his lips. "What are you waiting for, boy? You've been here before haven't you? Not literally with the gun in your _hand_ I grant you but still…"

Artemis could see Callum out of the corner of his eye. He was half-covered by the bodies of Tank and Murphy. His eyes were still open. Her eyes.

"Where did you bury Annie?" he asked quietly.

"Was that her name?"

"Where?"

"Of course it was. I remember now..."

Artemis knew his body wouldn't be able to hold the gun for much longer. His grip was growing more and more tenuous by the second. His thighs were crying with the strain of keeping him raised.

Artemis Senior could tell.

"You should really go and put some more clothes on, Arty," he said suddenly, his face creasing with concern. "It isn't dignified to be walking around in only one's underwear, you know. You look truly ridiculous."

For a moment it seemed that Artemis had been successfully distracted. He blinked heavily. "Ridiculous…?"

"And you are in desperate need of a shower. Look at you."

Artemis was liberally spattered with crimson, and the skin beneath was slowly purpling, scabbing, swelling. The teenager didn't speak for a moment, seemed to be confused, that he needed a few seconds to regain his bearings. The gun shook a little and his father smiled.

"Come, Artemis." He took the smallest of steps forward. "Let us leave this horrible room. Give me that weapon and we shall go together."

"You… You have just reminded me of something," said Artemis quietly.

"Give me the gun," repeated Artemis Senior, taking another step. "It shall all be fine, Arty boy. It will soon be over…"

"It was something Mother said to me a few months ago."

"Come now, Arty."

"_You're a fifteen year old in a bespoke suit, and nobody died... _She was right. I've… I have been dressing for a funeral for eight years…" He felt new strength surge into the hand that was holding the gun. "And now I know who it was I was waiting to die."

Artemis Senior was calm. He was closer now; he would soon be able to reach him…

"You do not wish to kill me," said the eldest Fowl kindly. "You have had two perfectly sound opportunities before now and both times you have failed to carry out your objective..."

Artemis raised the gun a little higher, readied it to fire directly at that organ which Artemis Senior was only fabled to own.

"You murdered me a very long time ago," said the teenager. "It is about time I returned the favour."

_I know where she is, _he thought._ I have known from the first second I awoke. _And then, _third time's the charm, dear father._

* * *

She swung herself out of the pod while the doors were still smoking. The pixie on duty had heard the slam of the docking clamps and glanced up once over his morning edition of _The Daily Hex_ to see a lone elf stripping on the landing dock _… _before ducking swiftly back behind his paper. A wise decision as it turned out; as Holly swept past his booth in full Recon gear she had already decided to blast anyone who should attempt to intercept her or slow her progress. She swiped her release card past the gate's sensor and continued into the main terminal. There she began to jog, swinging and clipping the rest of her kit into place as she ran. Once everything was secure she broke into a sprint. The few passengers and officials mingling around the terminal at that hour did not try to stop her. She was a Recon officer in full combat gear with her reflective visor flipped down; her hands were pointed arrows, rising and falling efficiently at her side; there were at least three types of pulsing weaponry dangling from her hips: they got the message. In no time at all she was at the outside release barriers: exactly where she had been barely more than forty-eight hours before.

_If only I'd known then what I know now. _

But she couldn't think about that. There would be time enough for any regrets later.

_I'm on my way, Annie. I'm coming for you, and for Artemis. I know the truth now. _

She launched herself, dart-like, into the night-time sky.

* * *

Butler's stomach dropped as he saw the towering, cast-iron gates of Fowl Manor swinging freely on their hinges. He raced the Land Rover straight through them, not stopping to check on the man who was supposed to be guarding them from the security booth; the man was slumped sideways with half his head missing - somewhat beyond Butler's help.

"So we've got visitors," murmured the manservant, taking a speed bump at speed.

_Your purpose is to protect Artemis. You left him, and now some trigger-happy maniacs are roaming around his house inching to kill him. They might already–_

Butler stopped that thought in its track.

He switched off the car's headlights and drove on in darkness. It didn't hinder him, even when his visibility was practically zero due to the storm; he had driven this route a few thousand times too many to not know the way blind-folded. After about a mile, he ditched the car in a nearby grove. He removed as much weaponry and gadgetry as he could carry (whilst still being able to fire) and set off for the house at a jog.

He kept to the shadows, hid behind fountains, bushes, using the same route that Annie Fowler had on her very last journey to the manor. Crouching behind an eighteenth-century statue of a poe-faced Demeter, he pulled out a tablet from his jacket, shielding it with a giant forearm against the battering wind and rain. It was something Artemis had cobbled together for him a few years back, enhanced (of course) by stolen fairy technology. He did a quick scan of the household for signs of life.

"_Three life-forms detected,_" said the box in stilted Gnommish.

One body, tiny, most probably baby Evelyn's, was on the upper-most floor of the house. She was probably in her crib in Artemis's parent's room: just where she should be. The other two bodies were in a room together on the second floor in a corner of the east wing. They were small too, almost definitely belonging to the twins.

"_D'arvit_."

It was obviously a good thing that the youngest Fowls were still alive and kicking but that still left both parents and the heir-apparent unaccounted for. The bodyguard slipped the device into his pocket and stepped determinedly out from behind the statue.

He entered through the back door, whispering through the old servant's quarters, the kitchen, the old dining room. His ears were straining, his eyes narrowed in the darkness. The safety on his Sig Sauer was switched off.

Artemis's gadgets may be good but he knew from one of Holly's tales that fairy infra-red could be easily fooled. So the Brannagh boy had told him that human organisations wanted the Fowl family dead – that didn't mean that fairy forces couldn't somehow be involved in this. You never knew with Artemis, and he didn't intend to be caught off guard…

And he wasn't, except from a brief start on the first floor when he found half of his hired security personnel lying dead and scattered along the parquet. He didn't stop to check them, knew they were past his help at first glance.

_So that's what happened to the main security team. Artemis has only got one hand, how was he supposed to have fought off whoever did for these lot?_

He ascended to the second floor, trying not to think of the worst, ghosting towards the guest room in which he had left Artemis. The door was already open.

He swung his gun inside, eyes rolling in their sockets for a haze or a neutrino barrel, but was only met with silence and empty space. The four-poster bed had been vacated, the covers flipped back. There was no sign of a struggle.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit._

He left the room, and hastened into a jog as he ascended to the next floor. Halfway up the stairway, his nostrils twitched. He could smell something, something that was making every inch of skin tighten and cower over his muscles. He ran down the latest corridor, caution abandoned.

_Artemis. Artemis. Artemis._

A door was open up ahead. An arm was protruding from the room beyond it, lying limp and bloodied against the hallways carpet.

_No. Please, no._

He wrenched the door back.

The room stank of death. He had smelt that scent before, many times, but never in such concentration.

"_Jesus_," he breathed.

There were at least five bodies, all clearly having suffered gunshot wounds to various vital points. He tried to ignore his instinctive sense of horror, stronger now in his old age, telling him to be sick, to cry out, to _get away_ from this. He didn't want to look, to try and see Artemis in amongst them_. _What happened if he was there?

_Then you have failed him. You have let him die._

He forced himself to scan faces and clothes, hair colour, the physique of the people lying about him. He saw a blonde, a man who must have weighed over sixteen stone, someone with a cigarette still stuck in the corner of their mouth.

_Not Artemis. _

The victims' weapons were scattered across the floor; it was a large arsenal, they had each been armed to the teeth. It obviously hadn't done them much good. One man lay with his hand still on the grip of his Beretta.

_Not Artemis._

Then the back of someone's black-haired head caught in the corner of Butler's eye. For a second, all breath abandoned his body. He was frozen, riveted to the Persian carpeting… and then he was leaping over bodies, turning over the limp, dark-haired figure…

"Mr Fowl," whispered Butler. He felt a strong surge of relief followed swiftly by shame.

_This is Artemis's father._

But not Artemis. It wasn't Artemis.

_Was there a mutiny? Could Artemis have been taken by whoever killed these people in order for them to claim the reward money?_

Then they would surely have taken Mr Fowl and the children upstairs. The reward went to the person who could give Kilglooney the whole family.

_Maybe_ _Artemis managed to escape?_

But he would never leave his younger siblings behind whilst he himself fled.

_Maybe he's just lying dead in another room? Maybe with Angeline beside him?_

He left the room swiftly. A short jog got him to the third floor. He came across another body a short way from the twins' bedroom. It was another one of the strange intruders. Butler's breath quickened and he sprinted towards the twins' doorway, not hesitating before ramming it open with a broad shoulder. There were two shrill screams from inside.

Butler's eyes darted about for any sign of possible hostiles. He saw dozens of stuffed-animals, a whole ceiling-full of painted parrots and parakeets, two giant beds shrouded by silken canopies, a miniature three-cylindered _Aston_ _Martin… _and two, very startled four-year-olds, one sat on his backside in the middle of the carpet, having obviously just reared back from the door before it was broken open, and the other on his knees at the window seat.

"_Butler!" _gasped Beckett, tears welling in his eyes.

"Beckett." Butler sighed as the four-year-old slid down from the window and ran towards him.

"We were so frightened!" whispered the boy as he collided with the bodyguard's knees.

"We've been hearing shots all evening," declared Myles, his arms shaking slightly as he pushed himself to his feet. "Who are they? These people in our house? Are they here to kill us?"

Beckett's eyes were wide as he stared up at Butler. The bodyguard's frown deepened.

"Have you seen your mother?" he asked. "Or your brother?"

"I haven't seen Artemis in hours!" said Beckett.

"We have seen Mummy," supplied Myles, as his twin released Butler's leg. "She was in here for a short while and then… she left us again twenty minutes ago."

Butler's heart suddenly began to thunder. His soldier-senses were pounding. "Twenty minutes ago? Why? Where did she go?"

"Look!"

Myles's and Butler's heads snapped towards the window. The manservant followed the line of Beckett's tiny finger smushed against the glass to a tall, barely-clothed figure moving across the distant croquet lawn. It was hard to make them out through the storm-lash of water against the panes but they were definitely dark-haired and moving at speed.

"Stay here," he ordered, backing swiftly away from the glass. "Stay here, and _do not _leave this room. Do you promise me?"

"Now, wait just one moment!" demanded Myles.

"_Promise me!"_

"We promise," confirmed Beckett.

The door was slammed shut.

* * *

Artemis had left behind his father's office with its multitude of silent inhabitants. He had escaped the whole house in a flurry of paintings, arrars and assorted wooden flooring patterns. He was flying in a dream of numbed pain and shaking surroundings. There was stone beneath his feet. Then gravel, then grass. There was damp in his nostrils; he smelt sheltered, earthy smells as the rain poured against his bruises, washing his skin almost clean. In was January and he was running towards a wood with what he felt was his heart in his hand. It was heavier than the gun he had used to kill his father, heavier than anything he had ever carried before. He would only be able to bare it for a little while longer.

He entered the trees and the rain's pressure lessened on his head, the strain taken away by the natural canopies above him. His breath rattled in his chest, his legs cried for a cessation but, like Butler had told him they would, the one and only time he had taken him jogging, they did _not _collapse beneath him but kept on running regardless…

Then he heard him.

There was someone else sprinting in the same direction as he was. They were a few dozen metres to his left. He could hear their soft grunts, their panting, somehow clear above the clatter of the rain. Artemis followed them over the undergrowth, only caching brief glimpses of dark hair and little, muddied trousers between tree trunks and thickets of brambles. He followed them into the darkest copses, through puddles and ferns, nettles, patches of angry-looking toadstools. He pushed a branch away with his good arm, ducked under another and almost fell as a ramp of muddied earth shifted beneath one heel. He could feel their excitement, their anticipation...

"_Gelli Aur,"_ said a childish voice in his head, "_Golden Grove. Named so by a Welsh Lord that came visiting here in the fifteenth century. Apparently this place was once full of Ragwort..._"

The trees were thinning again, the rain pressing harder on his head. He was losing sight of the little boy. Artemis saw a glimpse of his white teeth, blue eyes.

_Artemis._

Then nothing. And he stopped.

There was silence in the clearing. Artemis could still see the storm, feel it on his bare skin, smell its tang, taste its sweet acid as it slipped between his open lips, but he could no longer hear it. He was stood at the crest of a hillock. Below him, the clearing had lost its numerous, insidious craters. They had been filled in years ago, smoothed over by time and Irish weather. There was only the odd gorse bush now, a few weak sprigs of grass. That was all, except for… except…

Artemis almost stumbled down the hill, sending wet stones and grass clumps tumbling after him. Mud slopped beneath his grateful feet as he walked towards the centre, throat burning, eyes creased. He dropped to his knees beside the only blemish left in entire the clearing. It was a low mound of earth, glistening with wet, and he broke it apart using both hand and bandaged stump. And, like that day almost fourteen years ago, he had soon shovelled enough dirt aside to reveal a bag. He kept digging, kept pushing the mud aside…

"I've found you," he rasped as he gripped the bag, dragging out of its grave. "I'm here now."

He pulled it clear and unzipped it.

Annie Fowler's brown eyes were closed. As he pulled her casing away, one pale, bruised hand slipped down from her stomach to touch softly to the earth.

"I'm here," he said again, crumpling the bag into the ground before throwing it away. He settled himself in the muck beside her, shifted her so she was leaning against his legs. He touched his fingers to her cheek and smiled. "You look older, Annie," he murmured, scrutinizing her face. "You look older than me… You look… You look so... Well... You have grown up!" He laughed. "I shall have to catch up with you, Anne. I shall have to find some way to get to the same point as you. Where you go, I go. Remember? That's what _you _always said." His smile broke a little. He pulled her even closer, earthened water dribbling down over his legs. "I've got so much to tell you," he whispered to her. "You won't approve of most of it but… but that was such a moronic argument we had, wasn't it? I mean, you _know_ I shall always love you. You _know_ I could never leave you…"

Soft footsteps could be heard on the outskirts of the clearing.

"Let us be friends again. Let us… let us go away from here… Let me take you into Europe, to Paris, Budapest, Vienna…"

The footsteps descended into the basin.

"We can talk. Or not. I think… perhaps… that I always talked too much for your liking. I can show you the Alps, Anne, gondolas in Venice, sunsets over Madrid…"

The footsteps stopped.

"I shall do whatever you want, Annie. I am yours to do with as you will… I… I…"

And his voice cracked finally into a sob. He stroked at her face, at her too brittle hair. His eyes raked her body, seeing the ripped jeans, the bruises beneath her too-short T-Shirt, the broken chest. He grasped her hand, then her sodden clothes, her face.

"I am so sorry," he croaked. "_I am so sorry_."

He should never have allowed her in, allowed her into his life. He should have pushed her away when they were six years old, not at age fourteen. Fourteen was much too late! Fowls were cancerous; they took their time in destroying a person. It had taken time for his poison to spread into her but spread it had. It had killed her slowly but as effectively as if he had pressed the gun to her heart himself–

"Enough."

Artemis's shoulders were shaking.

The figure behind him held a pistol extended between two sodden, dripping hands.

"That is _enough_."

The gun trembled, and fired.

* * *

**...please don't kill me? **

**This chapter was getting to be over 10,000 words (A FREAKIN' DISSERTATION) so yeah, there's still one bit left - the other half of what I had originally intended this chapter to be. Oh dear. I can already feel the reviewer heat...**

**BUT! What did you think of part one? If you're confused, don't worry. Part two of this takes you all back a step and leads you sensibly to the FINAL conclusion. Well, semi-sensibly. **

**I got 28 reviews for the last chapter - that's my highest EVER, after three years of writing this. So, so, flattered by that response. More people are adding this as a favourite and alerting than ever before. You're on the home-stretch guys and you're being truly, truly fabulous.**

**much festive love, **

**Holi**


	17. Chapter 17 The Business of Hearts

**Hey thar! **

**Well, I know it's been a while. I am less than a fortnight from finishing my degree, so I've been pretty busy. **

**I know I said I would be ending it with this chapter but... I'm not. I'm guessing half of you will be happy at this (judging from some of the reviews) and the other half will be wanting to strangle me through your screens but... tough :)**

**So here's the start of a two chapter (hopefully) sort of RA prequel - because I feel it's important to take you back to the true start of this story before finishing it for good. **

**Hopefully you'll enjoy.**

* * *

Disclaimer: Yup, _still_ not Eoin damn pills just ain't working...

Soundtrack: Bones_ - _MSMR

**AND THIS IS CHAPTER IS ACTUALLY BETA'D BY THE MASTER OF BETA-ing ilex ferox! Thanks so much, ilex. You knocked me right in the gut with your grammar book, but now I've got my breath back I realise before I was breathing shite. (I've been revising all day - I'm not at my best). **

* * *

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS AN 'M' FOR OFFENSIVE LANGUAGE AND SUBJECT MATTER. **

* * *

**_'Do you care to shoot, Miss Chastain?'_**

**_'Only the people who truly displease me.'_**

* * *

Chapter Seventeen - The Business of Hearts

**December 31st 1983 – _The Ivy_, London**

"No," laughed Angeline, shaking her head, "_tu m'as trompé_."

Benoit clutched his chest as if shot.

"Oh, go on, Angie," said Fran, nudging her with a pointed elbow, "you _did_ say you wanted a dance..."

"And when did I say that?"

Fran scoffed. "Only during the _whole_ performance, 'Oh, just _look _at them, Franny! Aren't they _beautiful_? Wouldn't it just be _wonderful _to dance like them!'"

The small crowd gathered around them, all after-ballet drinkers turned New Year's revellers, tittered as Angeline narrowed her eyes. Fran plucked the olive from her martini glass and smirked.

"Come, _Anjuline_," lisped Benoit, holding out a large, darkly-tanned hand. "I thall thweep you away into the night!"

There were a few murmurs of encouragement from the people gathered around her.

"_Vraiment, non_," said Angeline, taking a slight step back, "I couldn't. But perhaps _Fran_ would like to take you up on your offer?"

Benoit's head whipped around.

Fran raised a hand. "No. Not me. I have hip problems."

"Really?" said Angeline lightly. "Since when?"

"Since around three seconds ago."

Both girls' smiles tightened.

Five minutes later and they were weak with mirth, staggering through the party crowd with their arms linked.

"_Mon Dieu!_" gasped Angeline, wiping a slender finger beneath her eyelashes.

"That was _awful._"

"_He's _awful."

"My name ith _Benoit!_"

Angeline screamed with laughter, causing a moustachioed man to her left to start and spill his wine.

"_Hush,_" hissed Fran. "Really, Angie, you ought to have better control of yourself…"

They dragged themselves around the bar, slaloming older couples and the occasional disgruntled waiter, until they found themselves in a curtained alcove.

"Oh dear," whispered Angeline, slamming her back against the wall. "I do feel sorry for him in many ways."

"Do you?"

"No."

They both cackled with laughter.

"He is harmless, though," conceded Fran, taking a pre-rolled cigarette out of her clutch-bag. "Unlike others I could mention…"

Angeline smirked knowingly.

"And how is _cher_ _Guillermo_?"

Fran found her matches, struck one, cupped her hands briefly around her cigarette and fanned away the smoke.

"Well, thank you."

"And how is _le petit __Guillermo_?"

Angeline's snickering mouth was swiftly smothered by Fran's free hand.

"You are _incorrigible," _she whispered, lipstick smudging against her fingers. "Honestly, Angie. You go around all angel curls and white dresses," she flicked at the skirt of her friend's ivory evening dress, "when you're really a dirty bitch: all fur coat and no knickers."

Angeline snatched the cigarette from her friend's mouth and took a loving drag.

"Ah," she said, blowing away the fumes, "but you would not change me."

"No," sighed Fran, leaning back against the wall. "For all your sins…"

* * *

**THIS CHAPTER IS 'M' RATED!**

* * *

Then the curtain swept back.

"There you are," grinned a lanky, brown-haired young man with a freckled nose and mischievous eyes. "I knew you were hiding."

"Oh bugger off, Jean," groaned Angeline. "Can't a woman have a fag in peace?"

"How about _this_ fag?"

He shouldered his way in between them despite their grumbled protests and stole the cigarette from between Angeline's lips. Fran leant forward and pulled the curtain to again.

"Benoit's looking for you," said Jean, folding his arms and flicking out ash. "He says that you owe him a dance."

Angeline fingered the wrinkles that had just gathered between her eyebrows. "Does Mama know?"

"Oh, yes. She's looking for you too, by the way, but I told her you had gone back to the hotel."

She sighed and tipped her head against his arm. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, dearest sister."

"And have _you_ had any success tonight, Jean?" asked Fran, who had given up the hope that her cigarette would ever come back to her and lit another instead.

"No," he replied.

"No?"

Angeline frowned. "Jean?"

He tossed back his head, jostling neat chocolate curls. "No, Angie…and don't look at me like that."

Angeline's lips pursed. Her brother had folded one arm about his stomach and a flush was rising in his cheeks.

"It is _nothing_," he snapped, after a sustained moment under his sister's scrutiny. "I had a little run in at the hotel earlier… that is all."

Fran's expression darkened. She glanced at her friend and saw that something dangerous was beginning to stir behind Angeline's eyes too.

Jean sighed. "Artemis Fowl," he said in sharp, staccato syllables before taking another drag of Fran's cigarette. "Just a boy, well, man now, from St Bartleby's. He was in the year above me. I had always thought… well, I was swiftly corrected."

"Corrected?"

"He kindly introduced me to the kennels back at the Dorchester and told me that if I was looking for something to fuck then I was welcome to start with his father's Labrador."

Both girls' eyes widened.

"Oh, he's a charming fellow," said Jean, catching sight of their expressions, "always had a certain… _façon_… with words."

The curtain swept back for a second time.

"Aha! Here you are!"

"_Papa!_" squealed Angeline, flinging her arms around their intruder's neck, giving time for Jean and Fran to hastily stub out their cigarettes.

The white-haired man closed his eyes and hugged his daughter back warmly.

"I have been looking _all over_ for you, _ma petite__!_" said Monty Chastain, breaking away and brushing a gentle hand against her face. "Jean, you told me she had gone back to the Dorchester…"

"I thought she had," explained Jean easily, "but she was simply hiding."

Monty Chastain huffed. "No matter, no matter, I've got you now." He stepped back and ushered the three children out with a wrinkled nose. "Why would you be skulking in here? It is so smoky…"

But Angeline didn't reply as her father led her back through the crowds, Fran walking beside her, Jean behind. She glanced back at her brother and saw that his usually cheery face was still taciturn and disturbed. Jean Chastain was not made to be unhappy. He had been the sunshine in Angeline's life for as long as she could remember. Only two years older, he had been her playmate, her protector, her one true friend for sixteen out of his eighteen years. If somebody had taken issue with Jean, they had taken issue with Angeline. And one did _not_ take issue with Angeline Marcia Rosalind Chastain.

"Ah, Granville," called Monty to a tall, grim-faced man they were approaching through the crowd. "I have finally found you some of my family to meet!"

The stranger turned towards them slowly and coolly, his clear blue eyes grazing over their faces in turn.

"This is my eldest," said Monty, smiling and gripping his son's shoulders proudly, "Jean. He's recently received an offer from Queen's Cambridge, starting this September. And this, here, is Angeline, my youngest; she's still at St Mary's. And this is Miss Fran Keller, Angeline's friend."

"How… delightful," said Granville in a slow, flat voice that did not support his statement.

"Jean, Angeline, Fran – this is Mr Granville Fowl."

Angeline's pupils contracted. She saw her brother's posture stiffen out of the corner of her eye, his soft hands clenching into fists.

Granville inclined his head to them briefly before drawling back over his shoulder, "Artemis…?"

A young man, as tall as his father, with features that would have been as near to perfect as a particularly handsome seraphim's if it were not for the pinched twist of cruelty ruining the line of his mouth, turned and detached himself from a group of other young and beautiful creatures to fall in at Granville's side.

"You called, sir?" he asked, cold eyes fixed on his sire.

"Yes, Artemis," said Granville, "may I introduce you to Monsieur Chastain? We attended St Bart's together many years ago."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance." Artemis Fowl dipped his dark head and gave the Chastain patriarch's hand a firm shake. "I only left St Bart's myself a year ago."

"My son," said Monty eagerly, gripping his boy's dinner jacket and pulling him slightly forward, "why, he must have been in the form just below yours!"

Upon noticing Jean, Artemis Fowl's face split into the widest and seemingly most genuine of smiles.

"Jean? Is that you?" he gasped. "Good God! How _are_ you, old chap? I haven't seen you in… gosh…"

_Five hours? _thought Angeline, as her brother's face turned the same colour as the tepid merlot in a nearby dowager's wineglass.

"Too long anyway," finished Artemis Fowl with an endearing, self-conscious laugh that made Angeline want to gouge his pretty eyes out. "You really must come over to the manor this year and hunt with us. We're sure to have some fine young bucks to stalk come Autumn." He caught Angeline's look then and inclined his head. "And you, of course, Miss Chastain, if you care to shoot?"

Angeline smiled pleasantly. "Only the people who truly displease me," she replied.

Monty Chastain laughed and placed a hand on his daughter's arm whilst Jean glanced at his sister warily.

"She has a sharp wit, Master Fowl," said Monty jovially, attempting to share a wink with Fowl Senior but not succeeding. "You should know to be wary of it."

"I shall consider myself warned, sir," replied the Fowl heir, looking at Monty Chastain's daughter with a mixture of amusement and undeniable fascination. "And if I should ever meet the lady…"

"Angeline," supplied Angeline instantly, holding up her small hand to place in his larger one.

Fran looked at her as if she had just licked a toilet seat.

"…the Lady Angeline," he acknowledged, gently accepting her fingers, "then I shall be sure to watch my mouth..."

He brushed a light kiss against her skin and Angeline was hit with the full force of Artemis Fowl's kyanite-blue gaze. She stared steadily back. "In fact," said Artemis suddenly, straightening back to his full height. "I was just about to take some air out on the top balcony if Miss Angeline would care to join me? I was hoping to catch the midnight fireworks, and I have a feeling her conversation would be second to none."

Angeline swivelled and hit Monty Chastain with the full power of her own, blue, stare, ignoring Fran's incredulous glare. "Oh, _yes_, Papa," she gasped, "that sounds _charmant!_"

Monty, never one to deny his daughter anything she asked of him, merely looked flustered and bobbed his head. "Yes, yes, be off with you! You two young things go and talk. You don't mind do you, Granville?"

"But you'll miss the countdown," blurted Jean.

"You'll always have next year's, old boy," said Artemis, as Angeline slid her arm smoothly through his.

"Just be back before one, Artemis," drawled Granville. His face as sombre as his son's was handsome. "We are leaving for the Manor tonight."

"Of course, sir."

And with a brief nod to Monsieur Chastain, and another to the stricken Jean, Artemis turned both himself and Angeline back through the crowds.

She did not glance back at the repulsed Fran or her devastated brother. She allowed herself to be steered, with Artemis Fowl's practiced ease, through the milling shoals of party goers, holding gently but firmly to his arm. They had soon reached the stairway door and she smiled, just passing by him, when a huge man, the biggest man Angeline had ever laid eyes on, appeared almost instantly at Artemis Fowl's side.

"Sir," said the giant, with a voice tailored from rainforest thunder.

Artemis glanced at him coolly. "Problem, Major? We were just on our way to the roof."

"I had noticed, sir," replied the giant.

"Good, now I no longer have to find you to notify you. I shall be back in a little while."

"The _roof, _sir?" repeated the giant, placing a massive hand on Artemis's sleeve.

Angeline was not sure whether to be alarmed or not. This golem of a man looked like he could kill with just a flick of his finger (and had), but she was no stranger to towering bodyguards and the Fowl heir did seem to be the one in charge.

"Yes," confirmed Artemis softly, "the roof. It is New Year's Eve and I would ask that you grant me a little privacy. I don't need you hovering over my person tonight."

Something flickered a warning in the giant man's eyes; Angeline could see it, even if Artemis could not.

"Angeline," she interrupted quickly, deciding to break the tension and smile pleasantly into the giant's face, "Angeline Chastain."

She felt the man give her a professional once-over with those wary eyes. He was far more thorough than the usual pit bull, she noted.

"I'm sorry, Miss Chastain," he said, gruffly, "I don't wish to be in your way."

Angeline shook her head. "Really, you couldn't be. You just do whatever you need to carry out your job, Major."

She saw the wry look in his eyes before long-fingered hands pushed at her back, encouraging her to ascend the stairs. She climbed, with Artemis following closely at her back, and emerged onto a wind-swept roof space. London was laid out before her, a labyrinth of yellow light and hectic, swirling snow drifts. She immediately clapped her hands to her arms, errant flakes whipping about her evening shoes. Artemis Fowl swept off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

"Here," he said, directly into her ear, "you'll freeze."

"Thank you."

He smiled at her and walked to the balcony railing, his raven hair flying about in the gale.

The roof was deserted except for them, the cold having driven all smokers inside to smoke, all lovers inside to embrace. Angeline would have gone happily back inside herself if she didn't still have business with Master Artemis Fowl…

"So, you are Irish," she started, as she came to lean beside him against the balcony rail. The iron was rusting and more suited to the safety of someone her height than his.

"How did you guess?" he joked, his accent clear even over the wind.

"Your smell," she replied primly. "You smell of gold… and luck."

"Luck?"

She looked at him. "Aren't the Irish meant to be lucky?"

"Some of us," he agreed.

Angeline looked down.

The roof slanted off beneath them, ending ten metres away, after a forty-five degree slope, to shoot off into nothingness towards the glass ceiling of a penthouse apartment in the building just next door. Angeline could see the owner's giant, leopard-print sofa through the designer panes.

"Tasteful," commented Artemis, following her gaze.

Angeline snorted. "Hardly anyone has style anymore."

"You give your opinion very readily for a… how old did you say you were?"

"I didn't. Sixteen."

"Sixteen." He looked away over London. "I have a feeling that I don't quite know what I'm dealing with, Miss Chastain. What are you? A school girl? A gold-digging debutante?"

"Do I look like a debutante to you, Fowl?"

Artemis genuinely laughed. "No, I have to admit you do not." He looked at her cold, wind-burnt face as if attempting to predict her reaction before uttering his next words. "I myself am a thief," he said. "I steal _hearts._" She didn't react at all so he looked back out to the city. "I've made rather a business of it over the years."

"Then you must be very good at it."

"I am rather."

"I'm in the business of hearts myself."

This drew his attention again. Artemis Fowl leant more of his weight on the creaking handrail, leaning towards the girl with the white dress flapping about her ankles.

"_Ten!_" cried a dozen drunken voices from beneath them, beginning the traditional countdown to midnight. "_Nine! Eight!_"

"Are you?" he asked with interest.

"_Seven! Six!_"

"Oh yes. But in a different line of work…"

"_Five! Four!_"

"I don't steal hearts you see..."

"_Three!_"

"I break them…"

"_Two!_"

"And when I can't get hearts..."

"_One!_"

"I settle for bones."

And Angeline wrenched back, kicking her foot at the joint of the handrail, right where the metal was weakest.

Artemis Fowl hit the ice-slicked slope of the _Ivy's_ roof tiles just as Big Ben began to toll. The frosted slate was unforgiving and ignored both his clawing hands and his screaming mouth as it shot the Fowl heir down, faster and faster, before delivering him casually into the abyss. Fireworks were blossoming across London's sky line but Angeline had eyes only for the entertainment below, smirking, satisfied, as Artemis Fowl crashed through the ceiling of the opposite penthouse suite, landing in a bloodied heap of glass, torn silk and, as she had promised, broken bones on the leopard-print sofa.

The door to the roof banged open. The Major stood silhouetted in the light from the stairwell behind him, a huge pistol cocked and extended in his hands. Angeline could just hear the first verses of _Auld Lang Syne_ floating out from the party beneath him_. _

"Where is he?" demanded the Major. "What have you done with him?"

"Calm yourself, Cerberus," said Angeline in a smooth drawl, clacking across the rooftop towards him. "Your master has just stepped out for a walk."

"_Where_?"

She blinked at him innocently "I suppose he just wasn't one of the lucky ones. And that handrail _was _treacherously unstable…"

The Major's jacket sleeve brushed against Angeline's as he sprinted towards the point where his master had fallen. The teenager shrugged out of the borrowed dinner jacket and let it fall and crumple to the rooftop. She returned to the party with the smile still fixed to her face, dusting a few lingering rust flakes from her palms.

* * *

**24th August 1985 - _Westlake House, _Lancashire_. _**

"Four o'clock," muttered her brother in her ear, "show poodle."

Angeline glanced over the arm of her deck chair, pretending to be examining a nearby ice sculpture. She spotted the woman in her mid-sixties stuffed into a too-tight grey cocktail dress twinned with a fluffy pashmina. Her white hair was a backcombed tower of carefully sculpted frizz and hairspray.

"The man to her right," whispered Angeline from the corner of her mouth, "train conductor."

Jean glanced casually backwards and saw a yawning old man with a flat cap checking his pocket watch.

"Six o'clock, wardrobe," he murmured.

Angeline swivelled and spotted an obese woman in a brown, floor-length, kaftan.

"You are so _harsh_," she gasped, slapping Jean's chest as he giggled behind his sunglasses.

"Says Ms _Train Conductor_."

"It certainly beats _Madame le Caniche_!"

"In your opinion..."

Angeline sighed and let her head rock back against the canvas.

The whole Chastain family were in attendance for their Great Aunt Hannah's eighty-sixth birthday party. The lawns of Westlake House, her father's old stamping ground and now his elder brother's home, were bedecked with streamers and ornamental bushes, solar lamps and pretentious, Grecian-themed, ice sculptures. There were a hundred little outside tables set under dozens of huge white umbrellas, with two dozen tea and cake stations manned by smartly uniformed staff. Angeline had been to seven of these affairs, but had only been sober through four.

"I need drink," she decided, after ten minutes of letting her skin cook in the sun. "Pimms?"

Jean looked at her over the top of his Versace lenses. "Do you _really_ need to ask?"

Angeline heaved herself out of her chair and started across the lawn towards the bar station.

The party guests were mostly comprised of her Aunt's old crowd: as many friends as a rich, moody-but-generous woman could garner over eighty-odd years of life. They all had one foot in the grave (or at least a few toes) and were uncompromisingly boring. She reached the bar, wishing she were back in Corsica enjoying the sun with her French friends, and ordered two jugs of Pimms.

"What were you laughing at?"

Angeline started, the voice having come from just over her shoulder. She whirled around and was almost chest to chest with the speaker.

"_Merde_," she hissed, taking a step back so her spine touched the polished wood of the bar, "didn't your mother ever tell you not to sneak up on people?"

"My mother is dead," said Artemis Fowl. "Now, what were you laughing at?"

The Fowl heir had changed in a dozen, none too subtle, ways since Angeline had last seen him.

Two years ago, he had worn formal attire almost identical to every other man's in the room, but Angeline had spotted the chased gold cufflinks and the oversized sunglasses he had tucked into his jacket pocket despite it being the middle of winter. She had imagined that outside of formal evening wear he would be an immaculate poser, always dressed in the latest fashions, always plucked and groomed according to the latest upper-class fads. Not so.

Now his chin was unshaven, his hair lank and in desperate need of a trim. He was dressed in a dowdy polo shirt and brown chinos that were only keeping him decent because of the black belt he had buckled around his too skinny hips. His shoes were scuffed, his eyes dull, and Angeline could smell the familiar oaky bouquet of high quality whisky fumes on his breath.

"It's a game we play," explained Angeline, turning back to the bar. "We look at people and try to guess who or what they would have been in a previous life."

"What about me then?" he asked. "What would you say I was?"

Angeline glanced back and deduced that yes, he was most certainly drunk.

"A bar fly," she replied, accepted the two Pimms jugs from a smiling waitress, and walked away.

"Oh, that's right!" called Artemis Fowl, stumbling after her as she crossed the lawn. "Mock the grieving man! Go on! Just like a _decent _little schoolgirl."

Angeline turned on her heel. "Firstly," she spat, well aware of the dozens of rheumy-eyed gazes turning towards them, "you are not grieving. You are feeling sorry for yourself. Secondly, why on Earth do you think it is acceptable for you to follow me? I'm going back to my brother, and the last time you were both in contact I had to throw you off a roof in consequence." She started walking away from him again. "And I am just going to _ignore_ the '_little prep-school girl'_comment."

Artemis Fowl was undeterred. He staggered after her for another dozen steps, Angeline walking as swiftly and gracefully as her sequinned wedges would allow. A dark shadow appeared suddenly in her path.

"Ah, Cerberus," she said pleasantly, "I was wondering when you were going to pop up. Would you mind taking your master away and dousing him with a bucket of iced water?"

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" jeered Artemis with an unmistakable slur. "Just humiliate me all over again? Well, there aren't any _roofs _around this time, _sweet heart_. There's just you versus me, on flat, level ground–"

She spun and launched the contents of both Pimms jugs into his face.

"Grow up," she spat, hovering over him, the Major's hand on her arm, bits of orange, strawberry and lemon clinging to Artemis Fowl's hair.

He just blinked at her stupidly and watched as she wrenched her arm away from his bodyguard and stalked off.

"You. Could. Have. Stopped. That," he spat through gritted teeth as his bodyguard hauled him to his feet.

"You're right," agreed the Major, "I could have."

Three hours later and Angeline had cooled off considerably. She had returned to her brother, _sans Pimms_, and told him what had happened. He had, predictably, got a bit of a kick out of it.

"He's an utter _shit,_" Jean had said after he had calmed from his fit of hysterical laughter. "He deserves all he gets, Angie, honestly. He's a spoilt, stuck-up, _nasty_ little inbred… and a tragic waste of good booze. Couldn't you have grabbed an ice bucket instead?"

She had gone for a walk, taking out some of her anger on her Uncle's wild flowers.

"Angeline?" said a soft voice from the doorway.

Angeline looked up. She was bending over a capacious basin, filling a flower vase with cool water. A bouquet of poppies and summer grasses was bunched on the worktop beside her, ready to put in the vase once she was done.

"Fowl," she replied tightly, shutting off the tap.

"May I… may I talk to you?"

He was dry and clean, his hair slightly fluffy due to a recent shower. Someone had lent him new clothes, old fashioned but of better quality and fit than the ones he had come to the party in. Someone had given him a razor too, and he had shaved off the several weeks' worth of beard growth. It made him look twenty years younger.

Angeline pulled the vase out of the basin. "What about?"

"About… about earlier. May I come in?"

"It's a free kitchen."

He stepped over the threshold and Angeline grabbed the stems of her wild flowers with two hands.

"You should cut the ends off on a slant," said Artemis, "it makes them last longer."

Angeline raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know anything about flowers?"

He looked suddenly awkward. "My mother. She… she used to love having flowers about the house when I was little. She would have the gardeners chop down… well… whole _gardens_ of them and bring them to the flower room so she could trim them and arrange them herself. She used to call it… her hobby…" Artemis Fowl looked at her. "Angeline… Miss Chastain… I apologise unequivocally for my earlier behaviour towards you. It was shameful and I have no excuse. Please forgive me."

Angeline just stared back.

"And for that night," he continued, wincing, "on the roof. I deserved what you did to me, that and more–"

"I could have killed you," said Angeline.

"And I would have rightly found my place in Hell. What I said… what I _did _to your brother–"

"Was childish and ill-judged," interrupted Angeline, "but not really… not really deserving of a death sentence."

Artemis Fowl blinked.

Angeline slid her flowers into the vase, straightened a few Shasta daisy heads, and said in a soft voice, "I'm sorry about your mother…"

They were quiet for a moment.

Angeline fiddled with a scarlet petal that had fallen to the worktop. "How did… How did she die?"

Artemis Fowl's focus on the kitchen's doorframe grew suddenly misty and blurred.

"I'm sorry," he muttered quickly. "I am wasting your time. I have said my piece. Excuse me–"

"Artemis!"

He looked back into the kitchen to see that Angeline had moved several steps across the floor tiles.

"Artemis." She hesitated, looking at this man who had so far been nothing but a thorn in her side. "I'm sorry. Please… I should not have asked. I… stay, please."

He studied her for a moment and Angeline wished she had not opened her mouth.

"No," he said finally, breaking the swelling silence, "but… do you think… perhaps… that you could take another walk with me? I feel… I feel somehow… that we should…"

Angeline was vaguely aware of the voice in her mind reminding her that _no_, this was an _appalling _idea; Artemis Fowl was a _despicable _human being whether he was grieving or not. He had insulted her brother; hurt so many others in so many cruel ways, according to the tales she had garnered from her brother's school friends. He was a _thief_.

_I am in the business of hearts…_

But she took his hand this time, not his arm, and inhaled sharply as an intense heat, as surprising as it was damning, flashed across her skin at the touch of his palm.

"We shall stick to level ground," she managed to say, trying, and failing, to keep her voice playful. "The East Meadow perhaps? Somewhere with a soft landing available."

She was chuckling when Artemis reached up, his expression strangely curious, and stroked a thin finger against her cheek.

Her laughter cut off abruptly.

"Yes," he whispered, looking into her face as if it was a puzzle he was struggling to decipher, "let's."

Neither party moved.

Angeline's former opinion of Artemis Fowl was gradually dissipating. Her brother's anguished face at the New Year's party, a rooftop and a rusty handrail, two glass jugs – all those images were flickering and breaking up as if seen on a badly tuned television set. She could no longer remember the rumours of a family steeped in corruption and vice; the whispers of blackmail; the warnings of thieves: the near-certainty of a graveyard hidden away at the back of ancestral property where those who crossed the family were buried, deep, along with their darkest secrets…

"It is strange," said Artemis Fowl, in a voice that had grown hoarse and rough with emotion. "Whenever I am with you… I appear to be falling in some way."

Angeline laughed.

_Mon Dieu_, she thought.

And they reached for each other at the same time.

A life built itself behind Angeline's eye. Bricks made of memories and emotion towered up ahead of her, every one of them made of _him_. Him, sun-drenched, laughing as he carried her through a meadow of whispering grasses, holding her as he pushed himself, breathlessly, against her, brushing her hair back, whispering to her, lifting her high; holding a bundle to his heaving breast, _"__Artemis". __C_rying, kissing her, as a moonlit car sped them away together to some unknown pleasure; playing with their faceless children in a stone courtyard carpeted in snow; squeezing her hands as the years churned into decades; lying down beside her as their life's light burnt out…

They broke apart.

Their hands were still cradling each other's faces, their chests heaving, their bodies _alive_, and Angeline knew, somehow, that she could now never leave Artemis Fowl's side – for better or worse.

* * *

**November 16th 1986 – _Le Maurice, _Paris**

It had been ten years since Angeline had last taken _thé_ at _Le_ _Maurice_. When she had been a child, her mother had brought her there at least three days a week for cake and hot chocolate, high-fashion and fresh, steaming gossip. Angeline could remember the feel of her mother's arm through the soft white lace of her gloves, and the way Maria Chastain would smile as their customary waiter led them to the same reserved corner table they occupied during every visit.

Angeline was sitting at that same table now, sipping from a bone china cup decorated with the pattern she remembered from her childhood. Rich, twittering groups of women were gathered around the tables that arced out from hers like ripples in lake water, dividing the dining room into smooth, elegant curves interrupted only by flower arrangements and the occasional white-clothed waiters' drop. And what elegance it was. Who needed Paris fashion week when you had Paris tea rooms? Almost the entire Winter collections for _Chanel, Saint Laurent, Givenchy_ were hanging from the long, pale frames of the young and the rich Parisians twittering around her. They laughed from beneath _Versace _sunglasses, gestured with manicured fingers weighed down beneath _Cartier _rings. Angeline had watched people like them since infancy, and learned style sitting at their _Laura Ashley _skirts.

"Angeline."

Angeline looked up, her name startling her from her daydreams.

"Jean," she said. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

Her brother sat down in the chair a slick-haired waiter had just pulled out for him.

"Were you?" he replied, in easy French. He gestured to the waiter with two crooked fingers. "_Ici, __garçon_._.._"

Angeline frowned as Jean ordered his tea. She had not seen her older brother in many months. He looked strained, she thought, and unwell; his grey skin was stretched too tightly over his high cheek bones.

"Jean," said Angeline, concerned, as the waiter turned away towards his trolley.

Jean's eyes darted towards her. "If I look somewhat _dishevelled_, then it is your fault," he hissed.

Angeline blinked and sat up straight as the waiter returned to arrange Jean's teacup, and condiments at the table. Both brother and sister smiled tightly.

"Do you require anything else, sir?" asked the waiter, setting the teapot down onto a stand in the centre of the table.

"_Non, merci._"

The waiter inclined his head and retreated.

"What do you mean?" demanded Angeline, when they were alone again.

"What I said," replied Jean. "This is what you've done to me, see?"

Angeline saw the tremble in his fingers as he raised his teacup to his lips.

"I don't understand."

He gasped, half from the heat of his beverage and half from apparent disbelief, before slamming his cup back to his saucer.

Angeline raised a well-groomed eyebrow. "Could we skip the histrionics, please?" she drawled, raising her own cup to her mouth. "We _are_ in public, for God's sake…"

"And does _he _know that we're here?"

"Who? God?"

"Dear _Artemis._"

"He's at some meeting in Bucharest," said Angeline offhandedly. "I don't have to tell him about my _every_ social call, Jean – he is not my handler–"

"Isn't he?"

Angeline looked at her brother with an expression as frigid as the icicles dripping from the railings outside the window.

Jean smiled.

"Ah," he said wryly, sitting back in his chair, "now _there _is something truly '_Fowl'_. You will fit in well with them, my dear – you have clearly been practising your _sourire perfide._"

Angeline reached for her handbag.

"_Garçon__!_" she called, and several glamorous heads stopped talking and turned to look her way. "_L'addition, s'il vous plaît!_"

Jean grabbed for her wrist. "_Angeline_," he hissed, his face serious once more. "_Stop_. I truly need to speak with you."

Angeline glared at the fingers preventing her from leaving the table.

"Is this gentleman bothering you, _Mademoiselle_?"

Brother and sister looked up to see the elderly and dolichocephalic _maître d'hôtel_ looming over their table flanked by two six-foot gorillas in dinner jackets.

"_Non,_" said Angeline, leaning out of Jean's suddenly loosened grip. "There is no problem, gentlemen. I am fine."

The senior waiter nodded and led his ape-like security team away.

Angeline's gaze snapped back to her brother.

"I did not come here to relive old arguments, Jean. I already know all your theories. Do you wish for me to stop seeing you again? Is that it? Timmy says that you have been contacting his associates, poking your nose into his private business affairs."

"_To gather proof!_" insisted Jean, his bloodshot eyes suddenly wide with desperation. "To get enough evidence to finally _convince_ you, Angeline!" His voice dropped. "The man is a _monster_, Angie. His associates are not merely business people they are felons, some of them proven _murderers. _I have researched the Fowls, and their reputation for crime spans generations. The authorities of a dozen separate nations have been tracking them since the _fourteen-hundreds_."

Angeline looked away impatiently as Jean dug a hand inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of folded papers.

"Here," he said, laying them flat with shaking hands. It was clear he had been preparing for this moment for weeks. "Here, _Eustace Fowl the Fourth, escaped conviction for the murder of Cameron McNaigh–_"

"When was this?" demanded Angeline.

Jean looked at her. "1546."

She laughed. "So, I should break with Timmy because his great grandfather's great grandfather's great grandfather was _not_ convicted of murder? Truly, Jean, you disappoint me."

Jean scowled and shuffled his papers, skipping directly to the back page.

"1963," he said, jabbing his finger at a poor reproduction of an English newspaper article. "_Billionaire family implicated in the disappearance of housemaid, Artemis Killough, last seen on the evening of June 6__th__ at their family estate._"

Angeline frowned. "I am still failing to see why–?"

"All police reports listed your precious Timmy's father as their number one suspect. He knew her, had apparently spoken to her often, and it was strongly suspected that they were having an affair. Workmates and friends of Artemis Killough also testified that she had been acting strangely around the young Mister Granville, especially since the recent announcement of the new Mrs Granville's pregnancy.

"_But_, the case was suddenly dropped a week later. They found her car and inside it a body, badly burnt but wearing some of Miss Killough's belongings. The police put it down to a freak accident."

Angeline was repulsed. "Why are you telling me such awful–?"

"Do you know what is _most_ awful?" demanded Jean, leaning over the table towards her. "Seven months later, Granville Fowl named his firstborn boy 'Artemis' as a heartfelt tribute to the woman whose death he had patently orchestrated."

"_Jean–_"

"It is all here!" he insisted, thrusting his remaining papers down onto the table, causing the sugar bowl to tip and their saucers to rattle. A few more Parisian heads raised and glanced up in their direction. "Disappearances, mysterious killings, almost always preceding a sudden inexplicable jump in family wealth. There is hardly ever a conviction – cases are dropped, investigations indefinitely postponed. They have got cleverer over the centuries, excluding Granville's blip, and now have a hundred 'business associates' to carry out their dirty work for them." Jean chuckled. "But the thievery they _apparently_ still keep personal. I really should have taken Artemis up on his offer to join the hunt last month – I suspect his house is home to some _particularly_ impressive works of art–"

Angeline grabbed wildly for her bag and for one mad moment Jean thought she was reaching for a weapon.

"There," she declared, whipping out her left hand and showing him the _offensively _large diamond ring she had just thrust onto her third finger. "_There_. You see?"

Jean's mouth dropped open.

"Thank you," she smiled cruelly, "for researching _my _family."

"No," whispered Jean.

"I have heard _enough!_"

"He is–"

"My fiancé!" Her chair scraped back as Angeline got to her feet. "I knew you were desperate to break us apart, Artemis had told me as much, but now I can truly see it."

"Angie–" Jean's eyes were darting around the room, well-groomed faces turning to glance at his.

"And _yes_," continued Angeline, regardless of their new audience, "it _was_ he who suggested that I meet you here today. He told me to come and prove to him that he was wrong. But now I can see what jealousy has led you to."

It was Jean's turn to stand. "_Jealousy__?_"

"Is there a problem, _mademoiselle_? _Monsieur?_"

The _maître d'hôtel _and his gorillas were back.

"_Non_," snapped Angeline and Jean at the same time.

"Yes, _jealousy_," hissed Angeline, as the _maître d'hôtel _hurried away, speaking rapidly into a bulky walkie-talkie. "You've wanted him ever since your first clumsy advances in the Dorchester Hotel. I've seen the way you look at him–"

"I look at him with utter _bewilderment_," retorted Jean, "because he is _named_ _after_ _a woman his father killed_, and has _still_ managed to _seduce my baby sister._"

There were a few gasps uttered around them, and mouths were suddenly whispering behind well-moisturised fingers. A huge man, who could only be the leader of the whoop that the two previous hotel gorillas belonged to, suddenly appeared at their tableside.

"I am going to have to ask you to leave," he grumbled.

Angeline snatched up her bag again.

"You don't need to marry him," pleaded Jean, scrunching his research together and running to catch up with her. "Angie, you could have any man–"

"I want _him_," replied Angeline, clacking quickly up the dining hall, weaving between tables. "And, I might add, you have yet to mention a way in which _Artemis _has done a single thing wrong. Our Aunt Leah once killed a horse, you know – should Artemis fear to marry _me_?"

Jean followed her into the main lobby, the _maître d'hôtel _hot on their heels. "Horses and young women are two separate things, Angie!"

Two cloakroom assistants held out Jean's and Angeline's coats as they swept by, just as two porters held the doors wide for them to leave.

"_Stop it!_"screamed Angeline, when they both stood outside on the pavement, the freezing winter winds pulling at their hair, the afternoon traffic on the_ Rue de Rivoli _honking and throbbing beside them. "I am _sick _of this, Jean! Why can't you just be _happy _for me?"

"Because I'm _afraid!_" shouted Jean, still clutching the papers in his hands. Pedestrians were staring at them as they passed, their necks drawn back into their collars for warmth. "I am afraid that he will _hurt_ you."

"He _won't_." But even to Angeline, this retort sounded weak and childish.

"Take these," said Jean, thrusting the thoroughly crumpled papers towards her. "Look at them, Angeline, _please_. I can't find anything to firmly incriminate Artemis, I'll admit it, but I'm scared that that is simply because he's too _clever_ for me."

Angeline had wrapped her coat about her shoulders, clutching the faux-fur to her throat. She simply stared at her brother, swaying slightly in the gale. Jean stretched his dossier towards her.

"_Take them."_

Angeline swallowed and reached out an open hand… only to close it into a fist just at the moment Jean released the papers. He gave a cry as each page was immediately stolen by the wind, blown away down the street like a flock of dissipated seagulls. They stuck to wet car windows and the damp concrete of buildings and roads, the ink bleeding, uselessly, into smudges of well-researched pulp.

A black Bentley pulled up beside the pavement.

"Goodbye, Jean," said Angeline quietly.

Jean turned away from his escaping research and gave another strangled yell.

"_No!_" he cried. "Angeline! _Please!_"

Her brother's voice was silenced as Angeline pulled the door shut behind her.

"How did it go?" murmured her fiancé, taking one of her ruddy hands.

Angeline smiled and stroked her fingers lovingly against his. "It is just you and me now, my love." There was a faint slap against the outside of her tinted window ("_Angeline! Angeline, please!"_). "Just you and me."

Artemis Fowl smiled.

"Major, drive on."

* * *

**Young Angeline is such a HBIC in my head. **

**Review, please? :)**


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